


They're Just Dreams

by spectaculacularsammy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon!Dean, Experiencing torture, Explicit rating for future chapter(s), F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I don't want someone to read this and have it mess with them, I'm making this up as I go, Possession, Protective Sam, Protective Sam Winchester, Reader Insert, Sleeping Pills, Song Lyrics, Torturer Dean, non-canon elements, possible trigger for some people, psychological disorders - probably fake ones with fake symptoms, there's a lot of torture and cutting and blood, vivid dreams, witnessing torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 10:12:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 32,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1775371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectaculacularsammy/pseuds/spectaculacularsammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being possessed by a demon (and saved by the Winchesters) you're plagued with horrific dreams, but those dreams turn in to vivid nightmares of a place you've only read about.</p><p>Hell.</p><p>Sam and Dean both try to make you believe that your experiences are just dreams, but are they?</p><p>The Winchesters aren't mine, I'm just borrowing them. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The nightmares...God, the damn nightmares.  
  
You haven't slept more than two hours at a time in weeks. While Sam and Dean are doing research in the library, you raid the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and find a bottle of sleeping pills. You take three of the white tablets and shove them in your pocket. You'll finally sleep tonight.  
  
You make your way through the hallways and stairwells, back to the library and grab the coffee pot, pouring yourself your fifth cup, topping off both Sam and Dean's as well. Dean nods as a thank you but Sam, he catches your eyes with his own and smiles. You smile back and take a seat next to him.

Sam puts his arm around your shoulder and gently squeezes, just a little gesture of comfort since he knows you're having a hard time and that you're exhausted. You've confided in him about the nightmares, not what they were about, of course, you've just told him that you were having them, but only after the third time Sam came running into your bedroom only to find you still asleep, screaming. You slide your chair next to Sam's, taking your dusty pile of Men of Letters file folders with you and he keeps his arm around you while you both read silently.  
  
Hours pass and neither you nor the brothers find any new information on The Mark of Cain.  Dean slams his book shut and mumbles something about going to bed. Sam pushes his books away from him, yawns and lifts his arms above his head in a stretch. "You actually going to sleep tonight?" He asks you with a comforting smile.  
  
"God I hope so," you say as you rest your head on the table.  
  
"Hey, you want some tea?" Not waiting for your answer, Sam pushes himself up from the table and starts to make the tea whether you want it or not.  
  
You close your eyes and feel the cool wooden tabletop against your cheek. Just as Sam sets a mug of tea in front of you, you start to doze off, but thankfully wake up. "Thanks," you say as you take a sip and notice it's sort of bitter. "What kind?"  
  
"Chamomile," Sam answers with the same smile he always give you and he starts to put away the books and file folders. "So, do you want to talk about the nightmares? They've been going on for awhile now, huh? Since Dean and I found you?"  
  
You take another couple sips of your tea and stare off into space, remembering the night, almost a month ago, when Sam and Dean first found you. The last thing you remember was walking from your dorm room to your car and then a blackness swarmed your eyes, nose and mouth, choking you, making you gag, and then nothing. You woke up six months later, tied to a chair, with Sam and Dean in front of you.  
  
They stitched up your wounds (mostly from them torturing the demon for information on Abaddon), and brought you back to the bunker to recoup. When Sam learned that you were studying Religious and Demonic History and knew Latin, he convinced Dean to let you stay.  
  
The dreams started shortly thereafter. The things that the demon did while it rode you for those six months, the hidden memories seeped into your subconscious and you dreamed of them every single night. But things changed, now horrific images flash in your dreams, unthinkable, unspeakable things.  
  
You've been with Sam and Dean for almost a month. At first the dreams were tolerable, you woke up in a sweat, jaw clenched, and tangled in the sheets, but the last week or so, they'd taken a turn for the worst. Every time you shut your eyes, the gruesome images danced around in your head, but not tonight. As soon as you finish this tea, you're going to down a couple of the sleeping pills and you are going to sleep, and dammit, it was going to be dreamless.  
  
"You okay?" Sam asks since you've still not answered his question.  
  
"Wha-what?" You ask, having forgotten what Sam asked.  
  
Sam snickers and pushes your tea cup closer to you. "Drink up, it'll help you sleep."  
  
Knowing he's right, but knowing you have a trick of your own, you grab a tablet out of your pocket and toss it in your mouth, then wash it down with the rest of your tea.  
  
Sam's eyes grow wide with curiosity and something that looks sort of like worry. "What was that?"  
  
"A sleeping pill," you answer plainly.  
  
"Oh, uhm, you probably shouldn't take anymore..."  
  
"Sam..." You question as your vision goes blurry and try to stand up from the table. "Whas in m'tea?" You ask him with slurred speech, then your knees give out.  
  
"Shhh," Sam whispers as catches you and scoops you up in his arms. "Just sleep." He carries you down the hallway to his bed and lies  you down on his bed.  
  
You groggily open your eyes and murmur, "S'not m'room, Sam."  
  
Sam chuckles at your slurred speech. "I know, I figured since I crushed a sleeping pill in your tea and you took one of your own, I should make sure you're okay tonight. You'll sleep well tonight, ______." He pulls off your shoes, jeans and socks, leaving you in your underwear and a tee shirt. You shrug and nestle into the bed, next to Sam. The smell of his sheets and his warm body next to yours is the last thing you think about before everything goes black.

-  
  
Your eyes pop open and it's pitch black, except for the occasional bolt of lightening above you. There is screaming all around you; the screams of pain, anguish, torture, and because the screams are so loud, you cover your ears.  
  
 _Where am I?_  You think.  
  
"Sam!" You scream out, but only the screams of torture and anguish return your call.  

You're sweating and shaking, you're petrified. You can feel someone watching you. Someone in the shadows, someone... _something_ is hunting you, you can feel it.

Running as fast as you can into the darkness with no real idea of where you're running to, you just know it needs to be away. Then suddenly you're in a different place. The screams, the pleading, the gagging, the begging, the sound of flesh being slashed, ripped, torn, and shredded is deafening; it's so loud you can't hear yourself think. The smell of blood, of burning flesh, and the pungent smell of sulfur is overwhelming, and makes your eyes burn and water.  
  
Then it hits you. You've read about this place. You know where you are.  
  
 _You're in hell._  
  
You take off in a sprint, again, having no idea where you're going, but you run. Your legs are burning, your lungs are on fire inside your chest, and your vision is narrowing from lack of oxygen, but you keep running into the blackness until someone grabs you from behind.  Doing just with the Winchesters taught you, tou scream, kick, elbow, and fight against whomever, _whatever_ has you in its clutches, all to no avail. It's much stronger than you are and it spins you around so you're facing it.  
  
Upon seeing your captor, you gasp in horror, recognizing his face. It's the demon who rode you for all those months.  
  
"Well, well, look at what we have here," the demon purrs to you. "I've missed you. You were so warm and cozy," he says while caressing the side of your face and you turn your face away, disgusted; his smell of sulfur is overwhelming. "We demons, we have our favorites and _you, my dear,_ you are my favorite, by far," the demon says, bringing a lock of your sweaty, matted and tangled hair up to his nose and breathes in. "You smell like home," he moans wickedly.  
  
You try to break free from his grasp, but it's no use. He's too strong.  
  
"Where do you think you're going? I've got a present for you, little girl," he says as he drags you off.  
  
Suddenly you're in an open cavern, there are people strung up, being slashed, burned, and tortured in every way possible. The smell of blood is thick in the air, the screams and moans are even more deafening. And you know from all your reading and all your research that this is the source of Hell's screaming, its wrath, its torment, its putrid smells, its pain; this is the pit.  
  
"No! No! Please!"You scream and fight against the demon, trying again to escape his grasp. "You can't...I'm not...PLEASE!" The sentence fragments spill from your mouth in wails.  
  
The demon simply clicks his tongue and hakes his head, while smiling viciously down at you. "Don't worry, little one, no one will hurt you, I'll make sure of that. You just get to watch."  
  
The demon drags you over to a rack and you see there's just a pool of blood, a pile flesh, and hacked up organs on the floor. Another demon catches your attention and he's standing next to a table with every sort of knife, blade, and implement of torture imaginable (and some you never imagined) laid out in front of him.  
  
"So, I see you've brought me a guest," the second demon says in an eerily calm and soothing voice. "I like guests, they help me..." The demon pauses, as if to choose his next words carefully, "... _get creative."_  
  
His emphasis on the last words makes your skin crawl and he notices.  
  
"Now, now," the second demon says softly. "I would never hurt a pretty little thing like you...much." He chuckles evilly to himself. "You just get to sit down and enjoy the show."  
  
With a wave of the second demon's hand, a chair appears and you look at the blood soaked chair in horror, and then back at the second demon.  
  
"I said...sit," the second demon commands while pointing at the chair.  
  
You obey and sit down, instantly feeling the warm blood stick to the backs of your naked thighs.  
  
"Now then, where are my manners? I'm Alastair and don't mind me, I'm just getting things started for the show. Make yourself comfortable, it'll only be a moment."  
  
Your heart pounds in your chest, your breathing is so fast that your lungs hurt. At that moment it occurs to you that you're being forced to watch someone be tortured.  
  
Alastair snaps his fingers and the flesh, bones, blood, bits and pieces on the dirty floor slowly come back together. It's like the pieces know exactly where to go, where to fit amongst the blood and bodily fluids to make themselves whole again. You watch the horrific process and then gasp at who they become. Immediately you stand up and run toward the now fully assembled body in an effort to protect it, but Alastair looks at you harshly, and suddenly you are back in your bloody chair, tied down this time.  

"No touching. Just watching," Alastair orders in a wicked tone.  
  
With wide and frightened eyes, you watch the body come to life on the rack. It lifts it's head up from it's chest, it opens its eyes and they look directly at you.  
  
It's Dean.  
  
"No! Stop!" You scream and fight with everything you have to get free from the ropes that hold you to your bloody chair. "This isn't real! Dean isn't in Hell! He's out! He was saved! This is a dream!"  
  
Alastair looks at you and laughs as he swings his blade through the air and hacks Dean's body to ribbons. You're helpless to watch, but you scream, beg and plead for Alastair to stop. Fighting against the ropes with all your strength has caused them to cut through your skin, and blood trickles down your arms, but you don't feel it.  
  
Dean's screams are deafening. The slashing, cutting, ripping, and his torment goes on for what seems like an eternity, but you continue to beg and scream for it to stop, you scream until you can't scream anymore, until your voice is hoarse and raspy, just barely a whisper.  Finally Alastair's body stops and he smiles as Dean fights to catch his breath. Then Alastair turns and looks at you with a malicious smile spread across his face. "I'll stop...only if _you_ start."  
  
Your eyes flutter open. Someone is shaking you. "Wake up!" Sam yells at you.  
  
Still half in your nightmare, you push Sam away, and try to get up, try to run but your legs are tangled in the sheets and you fall off of the bed, hitting your head on Sam's end table, knocking a glass of water to the floor, and cutting your arm open on the shards. The sight of blood throws you into another panic, causing you to gasp for breath, but your lungs won't work and your chest feels like it weighs a thousand pounds.  
  
Sam crouches down by your side and he picks you up from the floor, wraps a tee shirt around your cut arm to soak up the blood, and pulls you close to him, wrapping you completely in his arms. "Shhh. It's okay. You're safe. They're just dreams, it wasn't real."  
  
In spite of Sam's comforting words, the images of your dream play in your mind: Alastair offering you his blade, Dean's insides on the outside, all of it making you sob uncontrollably and shake like a leaf and screaming. "Stop! No! Don't hurt him! Just stop!" You yell at the visions in your head, but they don't stop, they keep on showing you the pit with all it's blood and torture and torment.  
  
"Dean!" Sam yells to his brother, still asleep in his room, just a couple doors down.  
  
Sam holds you tight, rocking you back and forth, trying to sooth you.  
  
When Dean comes into the room, you see him and you panic, again. With the visions of him hacked and slashed to bits replaying in your mind's eye, you lunge to him and cry, "You're okay? You're safe? I knew it was a dream. I knew you were here!" Remembering what he endured what seems like moments ago, you check his arms, chest, legs and face, but Dean's fine.  
  
The brothers share a puzzled look. "What happened? What were you dreaming about?" Dean asks as he sits you on the bed. "I'm here, I'm fine. You're fine. Just tell us."  
  
You sit on the bed, bring your legs up to your chest, and bury your head in your knees, still sobbing and shaking uncontrollably.  
  
"It's okay," Sam says as he moves across the bed, to your side. "Tell us."  
  
"I saw..." You start and then let out another series of sobs. Your hands fly to your head as the images flood back into your mind and Sam rubs your back gently, hoping it comforts you, just a little bit. Through your tears you look up at Dean and whisper, "I saw you.  You were...in..." More sobs come up from your chest and your cover your head with your hands, trying to block the images.  
  
"You saw me where?" Dean asks gently, sitting down next to you, rubbing your leg.  
  
"In...in...hell." You sob again uncontrollably.  

Dean bolts up from the bed, like it's fire hot and backs away, crashing into Sam's desk.  
  
Sam pulls you into his lap and wraps his huge arms around you, kissing your hair and rubbing your back while you sob into his chest. "Make it stop. Please, Sam, make it stop."  
  
Then you start to hyperventilate, but Sam moves quickly and reaches over and grabs a paper bag off the end table. He yanks the books out of it and tosses them to the floor, then puts the bag to your mouth and says, "Just breathe, you're okay. Just breathe."  
  
Your breathing starts to slow and you calm down, the sobbing stops, now it's just tears. You look up at Dean and he's white as a sheet. "Dean..." You start, "I'm so sorry."  
  
Dean gets up from leaning on the desk and shakes his head, "Don't...I can't...I can't talk about that."  
  
You nod, choking down a sob. On shaky legs you stand up and walk to Dean and take his face in your hands, "I tried to save you, you weren't supposed to be there, that's not a place where heroes go," you whisper tearfully.  Dean pulls you into a fierce hug, kisses you on the cheek. "I gotta go. I can't...I gotta go," he stammers with a trace of shame in his voice, that breaks your heart, and leaves Sam's room.  
  
You sit back down on the and put your head in your hands, tears still running down your face. "I'm losing my mind, Sam."  
  
Sam puts his hand on your shoulder. "No you're not. They're just dreams. They're not real."  
  
You turn to face Sam. "I could smell it, the rotting stench of flesh, blood, sulfur, and I could hear the screams, the sound of them ripping and tearing skin and organs. I saw it.  I saw him...Dean..." The uncontrollable sobs take over your body again.  
  
Sam pulls you to him, once again, and you curl up on his lap, resting your head under his chin. The two of you sit in silence for a long time while Sam rocks you and strokes your hair, planting kisses on the top of your head, as you calm down. After awhile he whispers, "You're going to be okay. I'm here, I'll take care of you. I won't let anything bad happen. You'll get passed this. I promise."  
  
Sam continues to whisper things to you, but you don't hear them.  For the first time in a very long time, wrapped in Sam's arms, you feel safe, his kind words soothe you and sleep finally takes you, peacefully.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm continuing this at the request of a reader. I have no idea where it's going to go or how it's going to end, but here's chapter 2.

Falling asleep, for the first time in weeks, was easy, it was delicate, and so peaceful. Falling asleep in Sam's arms; his safe, strong, and warm arms, listening to his soft words, his gentle protective promises, it was like nothing could touch you. Nothing bad, ugly, vile or evil could get inside your mind, inside your dreams, not with Sam there. Not with his strong arms wrapped around you, rocking you softly, as sleep's gentle darkness takes you in it's tender embrace, and you drift into unconsciousness, peacefully.

 _You're flying. You can feel the cool wind blowing in your hair, your body gliding effortless through the sun-filled blue sky. The air is so warm, the sun shining brightly just off in the distance. You feel weightless, relaxed and carefree. Below you is the ocean, it's spray making it's way up to you, sprinkling your skin with it's cool waters, it's salty aroma filling your lungs. You can hear the waves crashing onto the white sandy beaches below._  
  
 _Something catches your eyes and you whip your face around to see it. A mysterious black bird is flying behind you. It's coming up so fast and the sun glints off its beady, cold, black eyes. You know inside you, the bird is wrong, so wrong. You can feel it._

 _You fly away, willing your body to fly faster to get away from the bird. You pass through a group of clouds, further and further and further still, until you realize you're high above them. The sun no longer warming the air, it's cold. So cold._

 _Frantically you look around for the bird hoping you're out of it's sights and you realize how high up you are, way too high. You want to fly back down, back down below the clouds, where it was peaceful, safe and warm from the sunlight, but in your panic, you've forgotten how to fly, now you're just falling. Falling through the clouds, trying to grab on to anything that will stop your decent, anything at all, but there's nothing, not way up here._

 _You begin to scream as the once peaceful beach below you starts to get closer and closer. The black bird now flying next to you, is making it's screeching noise as you fall, fall, fall..._

 _You squeeze your eyes shut tightly as you brace yourself for the inevitable, but it never comes. Your body is now being held against something warm, something so strong, it had to be after stopping your fall._

 _It saved you._

 _You slowly open your eyes..._

Your body jumps as it wakes up. "Sam?" You murmur as your eyes flutter open, the first thing you see is Sam looking down on you, his face gentle, but full of concern.

"Another dream?" He asks like the thought of you having another one of your dreams _pains_ him. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and try to remember your dream, but it slips away faster than your mind can grasp at it. 

"Yeah," you groan, stretching your back. You'd slept the whole night in Sam's arms, curled up in a ball. "But not like before." The images of blue sky and clouds flash in your mind. "I was--I was flying...I think. Clouds, the sun, the ocean, a beach, but there was this bird," the memories flooding back so quickly, you speak in rushed words. "This dark bird, I tried to get away but I couldn't fly anymore.  I was just falling and then I was..."

"You were what?" He asks so gently.

"Here. I was..." You stop yourself, having realized how the dream ended, having realized what the warm, strong _something,_ that stopped your fall was.

_Sam._  

You shrug. "I don't remember," you lie. "I was just falling and then I woke up."

Skepticism spreads across Sam's face, like he doesn't believe you, but he leaves it alone. 

"What time is it? How long did I sleep?"

Sam checks his watch. "About ten hours."

Your eyes grow wide. "You've been here this whole time?"

You try to move off of Sam's lap, he must be sore leaning up against the wall for so long with you curled up in his lap. 

"I'm fine. I told you I would stay." Sam looks down on you with a smile that reads all the way to his eyes. 

"Did you sleep?"

"A little off and on. I've had less, believe me. You hungry? Dean just came by and said he made lunch."

The mere mention of the eldest Winchester made _the dream_ and all it's fear, blood, screams and smells comes right back. Tears fill your eyes as a particularly vivid image of Dean on Alastair's rack jumps into your mind.  As you sigh you cover your eyes. "Dean...God, I must have freaked him out last night, huh? I shouldn't have said anything..."

You feel Sam's hand start to gently rub your back. "It's okay.  He's worried about you. I'm..." He pauses, "I'm worried about you." The two of you share a look, but as soon as you notice the way Sam is looking at you, the look is gone. "You have to start sleeping."

"I do!" You do the best you can, stealing a couple hours here and there, but the dreams always wake you up, your body slick with sweat, your throat and lungs burning from breathing so hard and a scream always on the tip of your tongue...or worse.

"Not with sleeping pills and more than two hours a night. You gotta lay off the coffee."

"I slept last night, Sam! You just said it, for TEN hours!" You start to climb off of Sam's lap, reaching for your jeans, ignoring the flush in your cheeks from Sam seeing you in your underwear. "You don't know the things I see when I close my eyes!" Your voice cracks and you sit back down on Sam's bed, he slides up next to you but stays silent. He knows you need to talk about this. "They're horrible, Sam, they're so horrible. Dean...what am I going to say to him?  He knows I know, that I saw him..." Your voice trails off. "How is he even going to look at me?"

Sam wraps his arms around you. "It'll be okay. Dean..." Sam stops. "It'll be okay, I promise."

Your mind flashes back to your dream, Sam catching you in his warm and strong arms and you believe him.  _It'll be okay._

"You stay here, I'll go get you something to eat.  I'll be right back, okay?"

You nod your head against Sam's chest. "Okay."

Sam stands up from his bed, gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and walks out the door.  

You pull your pants on, walk down the hallway to the bathroom, and look at your reflection on the mirror. Your hair is tangled, the whites of your eyes red, with dark bags below them. You let out a sigh as your finger comb your hair and splash some water on your face, and brush your teeth. "Good enough," you mumble to your reflection and leave the bathroom.  

When you get back to Sam's room, he's sitting on his bed with a bottle of water and an orange. "This is all I could find," he says as you sit down next to him. "I'll go get us some lunch, anything you want."

Shaking your head you say, "No, you don't have to go. This is alright."

Sam chuckles. "A bottle of water and an orange does not a meal make. Besides, I need something to eat too."

"I'll just have whatever you have. Thanks, Sam."

"You're welcome, I'll be back as soon as I can and...Dean's fine. You should go talk to him."

"No," you answer quickly and shake your head. "If it's okay, I'll just stay here."

Sam smiles. "I'll be back soon."

In record time you wolf down the orange and finish the bottle of water. Laying back on Sam's bed, you page through a lore book you found sitting on his floor. It's images momentarily bring you back to the night before; Sam tossing the book to the floor, him bringing the paper bag to your mouth when you started to hyperventilate. Visions of Dean flood back into your mind's eye again and you slam the book shut, putting it back on Sam's end table.  

You pick up the other cast aside books, toss the broken shards of glass from the night before in the trash can, make Sam's bed and with a heavy sigh, you make your way out into the library.  

Dean is sitting at the table, his back hunched as he pours over the same books that were there the day before, still looking for answers about the Mark.  

"Hey," you say softly.  

"Hey," he returns, his face looking up at you. "Sammy said you finally got some shut eye."

"Yeah, finally. If you can call it that."

"How ya feeling?"

"Tired. Hungry. Embarrassed." You wince as you look up at him.  "I'm sorry--."

"Don't. You don't need to be sorry," he interrupts, his tone soft. "Here." Dean pulls out a chair next to him. "I could use a fresh set of eyes."

You sit down in the chair and look over the pages Dean has dog eared, taking notes and cross referencing different passages into multiple volumes, some written in languages you've never even heard of.

After awhile, your eyes start to get heavy. Ten hours of sleep just wasn't enough, not after two of the prescription strength sleeping pills. Before you know it, your head is resting on the dusty pile of books, you feel Dean pat your back gently and you're asleep.

_It's the smell. The smell lets you know exactly where you are._

_Again._

_The acrid smell of sulfur, the rotting stench of flesh fills your nostrils, it's unmistakable. "NO!" You scream, "WAKE UP, WAKE UP!  PLEASE! DEAN! WAKE ME UP!"_

_"It's not that easy, sweetheart," a voice behind you whispers as he walks up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist tightly._

_"NO!" You scream again and try to pull away from the too tight embrace._

_"Easy, little one," he whispers to you._

_You recognize the voice, it's the demon who possessed you, but you don't fight anymore. You know there's no way you can win, he's too strong. "I know this is a dream.  All I have to do is WAKE UP! Dean!!! SAM!!"_

_"Sam's not here, little girl, but I can bring you to Dean. He's here, always has been, always will be." He nuzzles his face into your hair, the smell of sulfur overwhelming. "God, you smell so nice. I wish I could just keep you here all to myself--"_

_"NO! Please! Please don't make me, I can't watch that again!" You want to fight against his strong grip, but it's no use, he's too strong._

_"No?" The demon asks with mock disappointment. "Alastair will be offended if he finds out you where here, and you didn't even stop by to say hello. He enjoyed your little visit last time.  Went on and on about how you made such a good little audience last time. He said he got to show you his best tricks, his best methods. I know he'd appreciate seeing such a pretty little thing like you again. C'mon, let's go find him."_

_Before you can protest, the demon is dragging you through dimly lit tunnels and caverns, past other demons torturing male and female souls, strapped to racks, bleeding profusely. You scream at the demon to stop, but your screams are drown out by the howls and pleas of the tortured souls on the racks. They're all around you. The smell of blood, sulfur and vomit all fill your nose, making your stomach churn. You can practically smell the pain, desperation and fear in the air, and you don't know what smells worse._

_Your feet drag through puddles of thick blood, entrails wrap around your ankles as you twist and struggle in the demon's grip. You pass a soul who pleads to you, begs to you to help him, to save him. You close your eyes tightly as you briefly wonder the crimes the person committed back on Earth to grant him his stay here in Hell._

_The demon drops you with a thud onto the stone floor of a secluded cavern and you open your eyes to see standing above you, next to your demon is Alastair._

_Bolting up from the floor, you sprint toward the entrance of the cavern, trying to escape, but when you're just feet from it, just steps from going through it's arch, it's gone.It's just a jagged stone wall_. 

_"Don't be rude," Alastair evilly chides.  "Since you're here, you might as well sit a spell. Have a chat with me, won't you, _______? I love that you've come to visit me again. I don't get many human visitors down here, I'm sure you understand why."_

_You look up at Alastair and your demon, his eyes black, Alastair's white, and then around the room, the rack is empty, "Where's Dean?" Memories flood your mind, Dean strapped to that rack, Dean screaming, gagging, pleading, bleeding... NO! You force those images out of your head. THIS IS JUST A DREAM!_

_A twisted smile spreads across Alastair's face. "Dean," he grins, "Dean has moved up a few rungs on the ladder down here."_

_"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" You yell at him. "Where is he? I want to see Dean!"_

_Your demon chuckles under his breath and Alastair shrugs his shoulders. "If you insist, but remember, you asked for it."_

_With a snap of his fingers Dean is in the room and your demon gone. You rush to Dean's side._

_"Dean!" You look him over for wounds and gashes, but there's no sign of any bodily damage. His green eyes look you over, but there's no recollection on his face. "Dean?" His eyes flick black and you gasp, stumbling backwards."You're not Dean," you breathe, your heart is pounding inside your chest, sweat dripping down your back. You've completely forgotten this is a dream, it all seems so real._

_"Oh, but I am, sweetheart," Dean purrs as he steps close to you, his eyes flicking back to green. "I remember you. You were here before, before I upgraded to the jacuzzi suite." Dean runs his fingers through your hair and down your neck, his green eyes looking you up and down.  
_

_Alastair stands by Dean's side, his hand resting on his shoulder. "Dean is my newest protege.  A real prodigy, considering how quickly he broke. He got off my rack, picked up my blade and followed right in my footsteps." Alastair looks at Dean proudly, just like a father would look at his son, but Dean's green eyes never leave yours. He's watching your every movement, tracking you. You shiver._

_"Don't be like that," Dean moans sadistically as he grabs your hand, pulling you roughly to him, his body pressed against yours._

_"Dean, what's going on? Why are you doing this? Help me!"_

_"Help you?" He chuckles darkly."I'm going to do a lot more than that, baby." His grasp on your hand tightens and he drags you across the room, your knees banging down on the solid floor, ripping the skin off and blood runs down your legs, but you don't feel it. All you feel is fear. Alastair is following behind you, laughing to himself._

_Dean pushes you back down to the floor and you fall painfully to your hands and knees. You look up and the rack is right in front of you. Dried blood, dried pieces of skin hang from it._

_"Stand!" Dean growls at you._

_"Dean! No! Please. Don't do this," you beg, but he ignores you. He pulls you to your feet, spins you around and presses you into the rack. "NO! You can't! Dean! NOO!"  
_   
_With strength so much more than your own, he presses your body to the rack and clasps the buckles of the thick leather restraints around your wrists. When he bends to do the same to your ankles, you kick at him, he of course, dodges it. "That's gonna cost you, little girl. That's gonna cost you big."_

_Both your arms and legs are restrained tightly, so tightly that you can't even squirm. "Dean!  Don't do this!  Please, God, Dean don't do this!" Tears and snot run down your face, your chest heaving as you gasp between sobs. "Dean...please."_

_He ignores you. He's busy, carefully fingering a tray of blades, pliers and other horrifying implements. Finally choosing a small silver blade, he groans in appreciation and whispers to you in a rough voice, "Don't worry, this is your first time. I'll be gentle." His eyes flick black and a sinister grin makes it's way across his lips._

_You scream as he makes his first slice._


	3. Chapter 3

A blood curdling scream erupts from your mouth as your head flies up from it's resting place on the dusty book, your eyes wide as you look around the room. You see the shelves of books along the wall, the empty coffee mugs on the table next to dozens of open books and an empty pizza box, but it doesn't register in your brain. All you can see is Alastair cackling maliciously, Dean's black eyes and his shiny blade.

You look down and Dean has his hand on your arm, which to you feels like the tight leather strap of your dream. You don't realize that he's just trying to wake you up, he's just trying to comfort you.

"No! Get away from me!" You scream, pushing at Dean's chest, falling from your chair and landing on the floor. He stands to help you up, but you scramble across the cold floor to get away. "Don't touch me! Please, don't! Dean, don't hurt me. Just stay away!"

He freezes, the words echoing in his head, _Dean, don't hurt me._

"_______," he says your name gently, "I'm not going to hurt you, you were dreaming. It was just a dream." Dean kneels down in front of you, trying to comfort you. He reaches up for your shoulder but you swat his hand away.

"No!" You scream at him through your tears. You try to move away from him, but someone scoops you up off the floor and you fight against it. "No!" Remembering your demon's embrace, you fight the hands that hold you, but when you see it's Sam, you collapse in his arms and sob into his chest. "Sam! Oh God, Sam! I was there! I was there again!"

"Shhhh. It's okay, I got you," he says softly, pulling you close to him. "What happened?"

You answer only with sobs, your fists grabbing at Sam's shirts.

"She fell asleep and woke up screaming." Dean walks up to you slowly. "I'm not going to hurt you, I swear. You're okay."

You press yourself closer to Sam, trying to get as far away from Dean as possible, the image of his black eyes and his blade still in your mind.

"No! I saw you! _The dark cavern flashes in your mind._ You were--your eyes! _You see them flick from green to black, you see the light glint off the blade as it rips through your bare stomach, blood pouring out, skin separating painfully._ Sam! Don't let him, please!"

Dean backs away slowly, his hands in the air, "I swear, I would never hurt you. I swear it, _______."

Dean's voice sounds so desperate to make you believe, so hurt that you would think he would do anything to harm you. He collapses back into his chair, his head in his hands.

You're fully awake now, your heart beating painfully in your chest, your head spinning. You can tell dream from reality now. Dean is right, he would never hurt you, he saved you, both he and Sam did. But you can't shake the visions of Dean strapping you to the rack, his fingers choosing which blade to cut into you with. _Don't worry, this is your first time. I'll be gentle._

You force the images out of your mind, they weren't real, they're just dreams. "I know. I know, Dean. I'm sorry," you sob, wrenching yourself from Sam's arms, "I'm so sorry," and you run out of the library and down the hall.

You find yourself in the kitchen and you collapse to the hard tiled floor, curling yourself into a ball, your arms hugging your knees to your chest and your head buried in your knees. "Just a dream. It wasn't real. Just a dream." You murmur to yourself as you rock back and forth.

It doesn't take Sam long to find you. He sits down on the floor next you, "You wanna talk about it?"

You continue to rock yourself back and forth on the floor, eyes wide staring at nothing, the visions of Dean, his eyes, Alastair and his twisted smile, the small silver blade, all dancing around in your mind.

You shake your head and whisper, "No. It wasn't real. It was just a dream." You think if you say it enough times, you might actually believe it. "Why is this happening, Sam? How does he keep getting in my dreams?"

Sam moves closer to you, slipping his arm around your shoulder, "Who? Dean?" He asks gently.

"No, my demon. He's always there, I feel him in the dark. Last time he was hunting me, I could feel him watching me as I ran away. And when he caught me, I fought, I did everything I could to get away, but this time," you choke on a sob, "This time I just let him. I knew he was too strong, I barely even fought. How is he doing this?"

"Your demon? The one we exorcized from you? ________, he's not your demon--"

"BUT HE IS! He's always there, always drags me off to Alastair! The first time, it was Dean! Alastair was ripping him apart and I was tied to a chair! HE MADE ME WATCH! I couldn't do anything but watch him get torn apart and listen to his screams! But this time I was on the rack and Dean...it wasn't Alastair, Sam. It was Dean!"

Sam pulls you into his lap, "They're just dreams, _________. Your subconscious saw everything the demon did while it rode you. You've read countless books in the library all describing hell, the racks, the torture. You've read about Alastair, you know Dean went to hell, but _________, he came back. It's not real."

Sam notices that your breaths are coming in quick and shallow, you're starting to hyperventilate again. "________, look at me," he tilts your face up to his, pressing your foreheads together. He brings your hand up to his chest, directly over his heart, "Breathe with me. Focus on my breathing, breathe with me." You stare into Sam's hazel eyes and he stares into your own.

The steady thump-thump of his heart grounds you and the rise and fall of his chest centers you.

"That's it, __________, just keep breathing with me. See it's okay, you're okay. Just breathe."

As you catch your breath, you can feel your heart beat finding Sam's rhythm, your hand still on his chest. Sam smooths the hair out of your face, gently tucking it behind your ears, his forehead still pressed against yours.

A piece of Sam's hair falls forward, brushing the side of your face, as you tuck it behind his ear you whisper, "I was flying. I could see the ocean below me, I could smell the salt in the air. The sun was so bright, the air so warm, but then I saw this dark bird, it's eyes were black. It was flying at me so fast. I flew up into the clouds, trying to fly away from it, but the air got so cold, I had flown up too high. I tried to go back down but I'd forgotten how to fly, I was just falling. I could see the beach coming up at me, I knew I was going to hit the ground. I squeezed my eyes shut, just waiting for it to happen, but it never did. It was you. I was falling so fast and then I wasn't. It was you!"

You lift your forehead from Sam's and look into his eyes, "The bird was my demon and you saved me, Sam. You caught me."

Before you even know what's happening, you press your lips to Sam's. He kisses you softly as his arms wrap around your tired body.

All your fear melts away and it's just Sam and his strong arms that keep you safe. Nothing can get you here, he won't let it.

With the your arms wrapped around his neck, Sam stands up from the cold floor of the kitchen, pulling you up with him. His lips leave yours but his eyes stay locked with your own as he carries you back to his room.

He gently puts you down on his bed, toeing off his shoes, He sits down next to you and gathers you in his arms. His lips finding yours again, whispering through his kisses, "I'll always catch you."

The ominous dark bird gone from your mind, you think you're safe.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I got a comment from a lovely reader this evening, telling me that she thinks there's more to the story. I have to admit that I agree. Even though I said I was done with this after the last chapter, I've felt this little pull to write more, but didn't know how to continue. 
> 
> The commenter was right, there's no way (not even with Sam's strong and beautiful arms) Alastair and the reader's demon would "just leave her alone." And though she's not technically going to hell in her dreams, demons never just leave things alone. It's never that easy. 
> 
> Sam assures the reader that "they're just dreams," so they have to be, right?
> 
> Things start to get a little hot and heavy between Sam and the reader, though nothing actually happens.(yet...maybe...if you guys want that, I can certainly do that.)

Sam's kisses are gentle at first, but they increasingly grow deeper. His hands roam up and down your back, tangle lightly in your hair, and run up and down your sides, through your shirt. His arms are the safest place, a place you never want to leave. They're strong, yet gentle as they lie you back on Sam's pillows, his hand behind your head. Sam's eyes are comforting to you as he looks down on your face, bending down to kiss your jaw, moving down to the ribbed collar of your tee shirt. More kisses are peppered across your collarbone through your tee shirt when Sam's name tumbles out of your mouth in a rush. 

Immediately Sam's kisses stop.  He's mistaken your rushed whisper, your need for more, for you wanting him to stop.  He pushes himself up off of you, clearing his throat, "God, I'm sorr--" 

You interrupt him by turning his face back to yours and kissing him.   With your lips still pressed against his, you reach for the hem of his shirt and tug it over Sam's head. His eyes register a little bit of shock, "I thought you wanted to stop." He whispers.

"No." You shake your head, pulling him back to you. "Don't wanna stop."

Sam lies you back down on his bed, taking the space next to you.  He runs his hand down your cheek, jaw, neck, shoulder, waist and hips, reaching around to grab your ass, pulling you closer to him. You're still clothed in jeans and a tee shirt, but you can feel Sam's warmth coming from his skin, through his jeans, through your jeans and into your skin. It's your turn to put your hands on Sam. You watch your fingers touch his chest, over his pecs, and move down to his abs.  When your fingers touch the metal of his belt buckle, you bring your eyes back up to Sam's and his eyes close as your hand cups him through the denim of his jeans.  

In one quick movement, Sam has you on your back, your knees spread, your feet on either side of his knees. He pushes his jeans and boxers down his legs and to the floor as you work your jeans and underwear down.  Just as you pull your tee shirt over your head and reach behind your back to unclasp your bra, Sam's breathing changes. You hear him gasp. 

"Did you fall? Your knees are all scabbed up." He asks with a concerned tone. The mood almost completely gone as you look down at your knees.  Sure enough, they're covered with bright red scabs. You have no idea where you got them, you didn't even feel them until Sam said anything.  

You shrug your shoulders, "I guess maybe I did fall?" But you don't   remember falling, certainly you'd remember falling hard enough to leave scabs like the ones you're looking at.

"Do they hurt?" Sam asks, kissing up a naked thigh.

With an answer somewhere between a snicker and a groan you mutter, "Not anymore."

When Sam's kisses make their way up your thigh, his tongue laps at your belly button, but then abruptly stops. "_______, where did these come from?" Sam asks, more concerned this time. You look down at your belly, where Sam's gaze is glued and see a clean shallow slice into your soft skin. There's also some friction burn, bruising and random little scabs around your ribs. 

"Oh my God!" You panic. "Where the hell did that come from?" You haven't left the bunker in days now. Last night you slept in Sam's bed and then today you were just either in Sam's room, in the library with Dean or in the kitchen.  This cut in your skin looks fresh, it's not bleeding anymore, a thin scab has already started to form.

Sam stands up from the bed to pull his jeans back on and the pieces just start to fall together in your mind.  "No. There's no way." You whisper. 

"What?" Sam asks. "No way for what?" He sees your face go white as his sheets, "What's wrong?"

Suddenly your entire body is full of sweat, you start to shake and your breathing becomes rushed. "Sam, oh God, Sam! They're real.  They're all real! My first dream, Alastair tied me to a chair.  He made me watch as he hacked up Dean. I fought against the ropes so hard that they cut into my skin." Your voice barely a whisper as a shaky hand touches the bruises and scabs on your ribs.  "And then earlier, when I fell asleep in the library, Dean, the Dean in hell, he pushed me down into the floor, I scraped my knees. I remember the blood pouring down my legs. And then when he..." Your breath is coming in too quick, you're starting to get dizzy, "When he strapped me to the rack," you look at your wrists and sure enough they're bruised, your ankles too. "He sliced into my stomach! Sam it's real! It's all real!"

Sam takes a minute to look over your naked body, but it's not your lack of clothing that he's looking at.  He's looking at the bruises on your ribs, wrists and ankles, the scabs on your knees and the shallow cut on your stomach. He helps you back into your underwear and carefully helps you inside one of his gray undershirts.

"It's okay. I swear it is, we're gonna figure this out." He presses a kiss to your lips, "I'm going to keep you safe, I promise."

Quickly he stands up from the bed, walking to the door and poking his head out into the hall way. He yells, "DEAN!"


	5. Chapter 5

Dean sprints down the hallway to Sam's room.  He knows Sam's tone and when Sam hollers for Dean in that way, it can only mean one thing and it's never good. When Dean turns the corner into his brother's bedroom, he sees Sam standing next to his bed, barefoot, in just a pair of jeans and sees you curled up in a ball in nothing but an oversized gray tee shirt.  Dean can't help but smirk, he thinks it's obvious what the two of you were just doing, but it's the pale color of your skin, the wideness of your eyes and the sheer look of terror on your face that wipes Dean's smirk right off his face.

"What's wrong?" Dean asks, looking between you and Sam.

Before answering, Sam sits down on the bed next to you and reaches for your hand, "I don't think they're just dreams anymore," gesturing to your scabbed knees and rope burned ankles.  Sam knows Dean's going to have a hard time believing this.  Hell, Sam's having a hard time believing this - so are you, but there's no other explanation for the marks on your body. There just isn't.

Dean hesitantly sits down on the bed and your force down the instinct to shy away from him, still able to plainly see his black eyes and shiny sharp blade in your mind. "_________, you gotta tell me about your dreams." He says carefully.

You shake your head and close your eyes, "You don't want to know, trust me."

Even though he knows you're right, Dean sighs. He has a hard enough time keeping the images and memories of his trip downstairs at bay.  He doesn't need anyone to rehash it for him, but if this really is case, he has to treat it like one. He needs to know the facts. "Can you show me the rest of them?" Dean whispers, eyeing the bruises on your ankle.

You sit up from Sam's bed and hold out your wrists to Dean.  He breathes in sharply as he looks them over, turning your wrists so he can see all of the marks.  As soon as he sees them, he knows exactly what they're from.

"The rack?" Dean's voice hoarse.

You nod your head and tears fall down your cheeks, Sam wipes them away with soft fingers. Then you lift up your shirt, bunching it in your fists under your breasts so Dean can see the slice in your abdomen, the rope burns and bruises and scabs on your ribs. Images dance sadistically in your head as your remember how you got each and every wound. Giving Dean barely a minute to look, you tug your shirt down and pull your knees back up to your chest.

"So you think you got these in your dreams? The one you had in the library with me earlier and then last night? Can you tell me anything?" Dean's words are soft and his tone patient. "Or if you want, you can tell Sam and he can tell me.  I know they're about me, I know I---"

"It's not you." You interrupt, "I know it's not you.  I know you'd never...you'd never hurt me."

Dean shakes his head and whispers roughly, "Never."

Taking a deep breath, you begin, "It took me a minute to figure out where I was. It was dark but there was lightening." You square your shoulders, determined to get this out. The quicker you tell Sam and Dean everything, the quicker they can figure this all out.  "I was in hell and I could hear the screams, I could smell sulfur.  I tried to run away, I knew something was watching me, it was my demon---"

"He's not _your_ demon, ________," Sam corrects you softly.

"Apparently, he _is_ ," You say dryly. "My demon, the one who possessed me, I could feel him." You shiver and Sam moves closer to you, wrapping one arm around your shoulder. "He brought me to Alastair. Alastair said that he wouldn't hurt me, that I was just there to watch. You were just a..."

"It's okay. Just tell me." Dean says softly.

"You were a pile on the floor and with a snap of his fingers, you were whole again..." You're not looking at Dean, but you can feel his body tense up and you stop, looking up at Sam.

"Just keep going," Sam says, linking his fingers with yours. You nod your head.

"When I realized it was you, I tried to stand in front of you, to block Alastair, but he tied me to a chair." You absentmindedly touch your middle. "He made me watch as he..." Your voice trails off, purposefully leaving out some details. "I fought against the ropes so hard that they cut into my skin and when he was finally done, when your screams stopped," Your voice is barely a whisper now. "He handed me his blade and said he'd stop only if I started."

"Jesus," Dean breathes as he rubs his hand over his mouth and stubbly chin. "You know Alastair's dead, right? Sam killed him."

Your mouth falls open and you look at Sam, "How is he doing this then?" Sam and Dean share a look you don't understand, but your eyes follow theirs, imploring them for an explanation.

Sam lets out a sigh as he kisses the side of your head, "He's dead, I swear it. I don't know how this is happening, but we'll figure it out."

Dean moves a little bit closer to you, "And the second dream? The one you had when you fell asleep on the books?"

"Dean, I-- you don't want to know." You whisper, pressing your face further into your knees.

Dean rubs your leg gently, "Don't worry 'bout me. Just...take as much time as you need."

You nod your head slightly, feeling Sam's hand rubbing your back softly. "I was...there again, my demon too. I yelled for you and Sam to wake me up. My demon said Sam wasn't there, but you were." You let your eyes come up from the bedspread and meet Dean's for a second. "When I begged him not to make me watch again, he told me that Alastair would be disappointed if he didn't get to see me. He bragged about how I was a good little audience, that he'd appreciate seeing a pretty little thing like me again." You roll your eyes through your tears. "When he brought me to Alastair, I saw the empty rack and asked where you were. He told me you moved up and that you weren't there anymore. I insisted on seeing you and he just snapped his fingers and there you were, but it wasn't you! Your eyes... _his_ eyes," you correct yourself.  You close your eyes and take a deep breath to calm yourself down. 

Both Sam and Dean wait for you.

"His eyes, they were...they were black. You... _he, he_ said he remembered me, from before. The way Alastair looked at you, it was like he was proud. He called you his protege, said that you followed in his footsteps. I begged you to help me, but you just dragged me to the rack. That's how I got these." Your eyes flick to your scabbed knees, your words coming out on a mad panic and rushed. You just want to be done. "You studied a tray of...and you picked this little silver blade. You... _he_. Sorry! _HE!_ It wasn't you, I know it wasn't! He said..." You burst out into tears.

"Hey, it's okay. Shhhh." Sam pulls you into his lap. "What did he say?"

You wipe your face and blow out a breath, in attempt to stave off the overwhelming feeling of nausea.  For the first time you purposefully look into Dean's eyes and whisper, "Don't worry, this is your first time.  I'll be gentle."

You bolt up off the bed and race down the hall to the bathroom, slamming the door behind you. You make it to the toilet just in time before you vomit. It's just dry heaves and sobs after the first go, but it feels good to get everything out - everything off your chest. Sam and Dean know everything now. You flush the toilet, wipe your face on a towel and you lie down on the cool tile floor. The fluorescent lighting above you is blindingly bright and you close your eyes, exhausted. You would have drifted off to sleep if it weren't for the knock at the door.

"________? It's Dean. Can I come in?"

"Yeah." You croak, not moving from your place.

Dean sits down next to you on the floor, handing you a bottle of water. "You okay?" You shrug, but keep quiet, picking at the blue label on the plastic bottle. You know Dean has more questions for you. "Did he...the demon, say anything to you?"

Knitting your eyebrows, sit up and look up at Dean, "Like what?"

"Like, why he keeps bringing you down there?" Dean makes air quotes when he says _bringing you_.

You smirk slightly at the gesture, "No. Nothing like that. He did say that I smelled good. That I smelled like home. That he wished he could stay with me or I could stay with him? He said I was his favorite."

"That's good. Really, that helps. Is there anything else?"

You shake you head and finish your bottle of water.

"Okay," Dean helps you up off the floor. "You wanna go back to Sammy's room?"

You nod your head, Sam's room is the only place you feel safe. Dean grabs your hand and starts to lead you down the hallway, but you stop him and pull him into a hug. "I know it wasn't you. I know you'd never do that to me. I'm sorry about before."

Dean hugs you back, "You don't have a single thing to be sorry for. It's gonna be alright, me and Sammy're gonna figure this out."

You nod into Dean's chest, "I meant what I said before."

"What's that?"

You look up at Dean, his green eyes meeting yours, "That's not a place where heroes go."

He smiles a smile you can tell is forced and says, "I am many things, but a hero? I've done so much that you don't know about."

"Past doesn't matter. You are. You both are, at least to me."

Dean pulls you into his arms again and pets the top of your head. He pulls away silently and walks you down the hallway to Sam's room. Dean pulls the rumbled sheet and blanket down and you climb in as he settles the blankets around you. "Don't fall asleep, just rest. I'll send Sammy in here."

You nod your head and watch Dean walk toward the door, "Wait!" You yell as you sit up. "There was another dream."

He comes back to the bed and sits down next to you. "I thought there was just the two?"

"This one was different. He wasn't there, not really. It was a bird, a huge black bird, like a crow or a raven. He was chasing me in the sky. I could fly and I tried to fly away, but I started to fall. He flew next to me as I fell, squawking the whole way down. It was his eyes, they were black. I don't know if that helps."

"I'll check the archives and see what we can dig up. You don't have any other marks or anything on you?"

"I don't think so, why?"

"No reason, just checking." Dean answers quickly.

You eye him skeptically, "Uh huh, sure."

Dean laughs, "I'll tell you as soon as I know something." He messes your hair slightly and gets up from the bed and walks out of Sam's room, leaving the door open just a few inches.

After a few minutes you can hear Sam and Dean talking in hushed whispers in the hallway.

"So what do you think?" Sam asks.

Dean lets out a breath, "I don't know, but it's messed up, man. How can she be going to hell? I mean, she was right there in the library the whole time. She was sitting right next to me."

"I know, she was next to me when she had the first dream too.  I knew she was having a dream the first time, but I didn't know how bad it was until she woke up screaming.  But you saw the marks, the cut...they're exactly the way she described. Maybe some sort of astral projection?"

"Alastair's dead, Sam. Even if it was something like that, he's dead. You killed him."

"Maybe it wasn't some run of the mill demon possession.  Maybe he's got more juice than we're giving him credit for.  I mean maybe he's doing something to her?" Sam suggests desperately.

"Maybe," Dean groans. "There's gotta be something in the archives, a name, maybe? I'll go dig around, you make sure she doesn't fall asleep."

"Yeah, okay. But we gotta find something quick. She can't stay awake forever."

"I know, Sammy. We'll figure it out. Maybe Cas knows something?"

You hear Dean's footsteps walk away and see Sam walk back into his bedroom. "Hey," he whispers with a smile.

"Hey," you smile back, "So no sleep for me, huh?"

Taking a seat next to you on the bed, Sam smooths your hair, "It's just for a little while, I promise.  We'll figure it out."

"And if you don't?"

"We will." Sam lies down next to you.

"I know you will." You kiss Sam softly and then rest your head on his chest.  "So you need the name of my very own Freddy Kruger?" You say sarcastically.

Smirking just a little, "Do you remember anything? What he did or what he was thinking about when he possessed you?"

"Nope," you shake your head, "Last thing I remember was walking to my car, the black smoke and then it was lights out until I saw you and Dean." You pause as a thought enters your head, "I could go back, I could fall asleep and try to get a name?"

"No way. Too dangerous." Sam answers vehemently, "There's gotta be something here that'll clue us in on what's going on. Dean's gonna ask Cas too.  We'll just load you up on the coffee that you drink by that gallon," Sam teases, tickling your side just a little bit, but stops to kiss you again. "I swear, we're going to fix this."  He rests his forehead against yours, "It's going to be okay. You're going to be fine."

You close your eyes and nod your head, willing yourself to believe. "Why don't you go on with Dean and I'll go take a shower.  I'll be down in a bit, okay?"

"Okay," Sam kisses you softly again. "I'll be in the library if you need me." He stands from the bed and walks toward the door, pausing to look back at you before closing it behind him.

After a minute you scramble up off the bed and peek down the hallway to make sure Sam's gone.  When you see that he is, you grab your pants from up off the floor and dig in the pockets, pulling out two, slightly linty, white pills, the sleeping pills you took from the medicine cabinet. You roll them around in your hand for a minute, trying to decide what to do.  Do you take a shower like you said and then join Sam and Dean in the library for research? Or do you do a little research of your own?

With out a second thought, you pop the two pills in your mouth, biting them a couple times to make them work faster. Wincing at the bitter medicinal taste, you chase the chalky pills with a glass of water. You lie down on Sam's bed, pillows stacked neatly behind your head and tucking the blankets in around yourself.  You close your eyes and wait for sleep to come, it takes only minutes.

_"Back so soon, sweetheart?" A familiar low and rough voice asks you, so close you can feel the warm breath on your face._

_"Dean?" You ask, even though you'd recognize the voice anywhere._

_With a twisted grin, illuminated by the lightening bolts sparking above you he purrs, "The one and only. What brings you back to my neck of the woods?"  Dean walks in a slow circle around you, head bowed just a little, but face twisted up so you're in his sights._

_"SAM!  DEAN!  Wake me UP!" You took the sleeping pills thinking you could be brave, but now that you're here, fear has taken over and not a trace of bravery is left behind. You start to shake and breathe in sharply, the rotten egg smell of sulfur filling your nostrils._

_Pulling you close, your back to his front, Dean buries his face in your hair.  "You don't have to be scared, little one.  I'll take good care of you." He spins you around, showing you his green eyes for just a second and then flicking to black. "C'mon, lets get you out of here." He winks as he reaches for your hand._

_"Dean, no! I can't! I shouldn't have come! I promised!" But Dean doesn't listen, he just keeps leading you through torch lit, narrow passages. You pass cells built right into the rocks with grimy, maybe rusty metal bars in front of them. You can't see the figures cowering in the dark, but you can hear their cries for help and make out their glittering eyes in the dark.  "Where are we going?" You ask frantically, pulling a little on Dean's hand. "Please don't take me to see Alastair or my demon..."_

_Dean doesn't answer, he just looks back at you and smirks, black eyes ever present._

_Finally you're in a room, one you've never seen before. Your chest rises and falls as you breath heavily from your adrenaline rush and take in your surroundings. The room is stone just like the other portions of hell you've seen, but this one is further away from the stomach churning stenches and the ear splitting screams.  You're not sure if the distance is comforting or not._

_Dean roughly leads you to a simple wooden chair in the middle of the room, but you don't sit down, you continue to look around you. One half of the room is completely dark.  You try not to look at it, it makes you feel uneasy. The other side of the room is lined with shelves and cupboards, filled with jars of multi-colored liquids, beakers lined up neatly with every sort of scalpel, razor and knife you've ever seen.  There's an instrument cart filled with a multitude of pliers, bone saws, blades, hooks and other things you don't recognize. Dean snaps his fingers and the other side of the room is illuminated with the light of  the sun. Clear in your view is a rack, complete with leather restraints, buckles and all._

_"DEAN! No, please don't! You said you'd take care of me! Why are you doing this?" You shriek, looking around for the entrance to this cavern but the whole room is rocked up.  The entrance is gone. Dean doesn't say anything to you, he just walks slowly, looking at you through his eyebrows. You counter his steps toward you by walking backwards until you back into something solid and sharp, the rack.  "Don't do this! Please, you said--"_

_"I know exactly what I said, sweetheart," He runs the backs of his fingers down the side of your face, "I said I would take care of you. You said you didn't want to see Alastair or "your" demon, you called him?" He laughs, "So I brought you here. I get you all to myself here. No Alastair, no Lantz, just what you asked for.  Just you and me."  He grins, as he buckles your hands into the restraints so slowly and softly, you don't even feel it.  After your hands are bound, Dean pulls a leather strap over your jaw and mouth, securing it to the the wooden beam behind your head. Your screams and begs come out in muffled whimpers as Dean works the buckles closed around your ankles, metal biting into your skin as you struggle._

_Dean pulls the same small silver blade from somewhere in his black jeans and runs it down the side of your face, over the leather strap and down your jaw, never breaking the skin, but leaving a burn behind. "Lantz likes you. 'Your demon' as you say." Dean snickers darkly.  "Always talking about you, like the old drunk bellied up to the bar, going on and on about the one that got away.  He claims he left a little something behind inside you, something that makes you his, but that's why I'm here," Dean makes a slice down your arm and you scream into the thick leather, "I'll find what ever it is and make you mine."_

_A lifetime goes by, or maybe it's just minutes, it doesn't matter.  You can feel blood trickling down your face, down your torso, arms and legs.  Tears drip off your cheeks and chin as you howl behind leather. Dean's been everywhere inside you, making cuts, slashes, holes and gashes deep in your skin, but he's found nothing. One last slice just above your collar bone and you can feel your heart beat in your eyes, in your mouth and everywhere in your body. The pain is white hot and the only sound you hear is Dean's dark laugh and the thump, thump of your heart. It's quick at first, but finally slowing into complete silence._

_The last thing you hear is Dean saying, "Don't worry, I'll find what he left behind and the next time you come back, you'll be mine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you know where I got the reader's demon's name, you get a cookie. ;)
> 
> Edit: Also, if you're like me and like to get your updates on the fics you like RIGHT AWAY, subscribe to me or this fic. That way you'll get a nifty little email that lets you know when I update. :)
> 
> Edit X2: No one has said if they want things to get even more hot and heavy between the reader and Sam, or if we want to keep this a smut free fic. Now if you ask me, Sam Winchester (either Winchester, if you want my honest opinion) could do with about 3000% less clothing. If you want me to go there, I will. :) If not, that's cool too. Okay, last edit. 
> 
> Maybe. :)


	6. Chapter 6

Sam and Dean are pouring over dusty texts from the Letters' library. Dozens of books are open, laying haphazardly around the boys. Sam's found a handful of demons that are known to visits humans in their dreams. Dean's found one that takes the shape of a crow, making a small joke that maybe the demon's name is Randall Flag. Sam rolls his eyes at the reference and buries his nose in his huge stack of books, finding another five demons that are notorious for choosing young girls as their hosts, leaving pieces of themselves behind, to lay claim on their victims, but none fit the way they need them to. 

An hour goes by and Sam checks his watch for the eighth time, wondering why you're taking so long in the shower. Finally at the hour and fifteen minute mark, he pushes himself up out of his leather chair and makes his way to the bathroom, Dean just steps behind him. Sam knocks on the bathroom door, listening for your voice or the sound of running water. When only the sounds of silence return to his sharp ears, Sam hesitantly opens the bathroom door.

"________? You in here?" Sam calls out tentatively, but once again, it's just silence laced with the sound of the dripping faucet. He looks over his shoulder at Dean, sharing a nervous look and pushing past Dean, jogging down the hall. Sam finds you neatly tucked in his bed, sheets up to your chin, sound asleep. He looks at Dean again, nervous look gone, replaced by panic.

"Well, wake her up, Sammy." Dean urges his brother.

Sam puts his hand on your sheet covered shoulder, shaking you slightly, but you don't rouse. He shakes harder, but your eyes stay closed.  He's able to see your eyes moving back and forth behind your closed eyelids, still not waking up. You look like you're having a peaceful dream, but both Winchesters know better. When Sam pulls his hand away, the palm of his hand sticks slightly to the sheet.  At first he thinks maybe the sheet got sticky from the orange he brought you earlier, but when he sees the crimson on his hand and flowering through the white cotton fabric, oranges and their sticky sweetness are the last things on his mind.  He rips the sheet off of you, seeing the deep slice into the delicate skin of your upper arm, blood pouring from your wound.  It's pure instinct for him to use the nearest fabric, the sheet, to firmly press into your slashed skin.

"___________!" The younger Winchester yells to you again, "C'mon baby, wake up!" He smooths the stray hair from your eyes and looks up to Dean, "Why isn't she waking up?"

Dean rushes to the other side of the bed, pressing his fingers into your neck, feeling for your carotid pulse. "It's slow, but it's there.  Did she take something?"

Slowly Sam moves his face to yours, still applying pressure to your arm.  He puts his nose by your mouth and gently separates your lips, breathing in slightly. "Dammit!" He yells, recognizing the medicinal smell. "Yeah, she took sleeping pills. The ones in the medicine cabinet. She used them to help her sleep the other night. Dammit, ________, what were you thinking?" But you don't answer.  You're in your own little hell.

Sam and Dean try everything to wake you. More shaking, opening your eyelids, yelling at you, making loud noises, splashing water on your face, but nothing works. Sam even sits you up, pulling you close to him, but you just slump over like a rag doll and sleep against his chest. When he lies you back down on the bed, both he and Dean see his plaid shirt soaked with blood, as is the gray shirt you're wearing. He lifts your shirt up and watches seven slashes rip through your skin by unseen blades, in addition to the five that appeared when they weren't looking. The blood pools on your skin, oozing from the deep wounds and overflows on to the sheets, soaking into the mattress. Dean quickly presses part of the sheet into your abdomen, but in seconds it's soaked with red and four more gaping slices appear on your body. One on each of your cheeks and two on your rib cage. You remain motionless the entire time, making no noise at all.

It happens so fast, in seconds really and the brothers panic, applying pressure with their hands, but they can't keep up. There are dozens more jagged lacerations scattered around your body; your face, chest, abdomen, arms, legs.  Both sets of eyes flicker to each new wound and five more appear, ripped and stretched in obviously painful looking ways. The last one they see is just above your collar bone. They watch as an invisible blade slowly slices through your delicate skin, blood gushing and pumping out of the impossibly deep gash, with each rapid beat of your heart. Sam's hands abandon your arm and your middle, pressing tightly against your neck in a vain attempt to slow the bleeding, but your blood flows through his fingers just like a sieve.

"No, no, no, NO!" Sam roars, "CAS! GET HERE NOW!" He squeezes his eyes closed, praying to Castiel with everything he has.

"Sammy..." Dean whispers softly, "Sammy, it's too late. She's gone."

Sam opens his eyes slowly, one at a time and sees Dean is right. Your skin, even though almost completely covered in your own blood, is sweaty, clammy and cool, no longer warm to the touch. Your chest is still, no longer expanding and contracting with each breath, your lips slightly blue are parted and still, no breath coming in or out between them.  Sam takes his hands away from your neck and pulls down your blood soaked tee shirt, taking time to smooth all the wrinkles out and making sure the hem is perfectly straight. Gently he folds your hands over your body, his fingers brushing over yours before he takes his hands away. He smooths your hair, tucking stray locks behind your ears.  He ignores the tears that drip off his cheeks and chin onto your face and neck, making little rivers in the sea of red blood. He somberly reaches down to the floor and picks up a thin gray blanket, spreading it over your body, taking care that there's no wrinkles or creases in the fabric or tucked in corners. He sits down next to you, petting your hair softly one last time and gently kissing your forehead.

In a ragged voice he tearfully whispers, "I'm so sorry," in your ear before standing up from his bed. He reaches for the blanket, to respectfully cover your face, but takes a second to look over your features one last time, trying to ignore the massive amount of blood covering your skin.  Just as he moves to cover you completely with the blanket, you're eyes pop open with a gasp and then a hair-raising scream bursts from your lips.

You're alive.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Your throat burns as you gasp for breath to re-inflate your lungs. Sitting straight up on the bed, your eyes dart around the room, taking in your surroundings. 

Dean is standing to your left, just a step or two away from the bed and Sam is standing, frozen in shock, to your immediate right. Your eyes fly back and forth between the brothers, trying to figure out where you are, forcing yourself to differentiate dream from reality. You look down at your hands, staring at the sticky blood that coats them.  Eyes traveling down to your body, the bedding, then to the still as statues brothers, who are also covered in blood. 

"Sam?" You croak out, eyes wide in panic and fear. 

Your call to Sam snaps him out of his shocked daze.  Just seconds ago he was convinced you had died. You _had_ died. He watched you, you died in his arms and now you're breathing.  You're alive. He drops down on the bed and reaches out for you, but Dean protectively pulls him away.

"What the hell?" Sam yells at his brother as he stumbles backwards off the bed.

"She was dead, Sammy. You saw her, I saw her. She couldn't have just come back like that. There's no way." Dean pulls a silver flask of holy water from his pocket and tosses it on the bed, holding Sam back when Sam tries to push away. "Empty it." Dean demands.

With blood sticky fingers, you unscrew the cap and drink down the stale water, warmed from Dean's body heat. It burns a little as your tender throat gulps it down, but you're so thirsty you empty the flask completely. You really could use another five bottles of water (holy or not), but you just let the flask drop from your fingers and bounce on the bed before it falls still.

"Happy?" Sam asks his brother sarcastically, shrugging out of Dean's grip and rushing to the bed. "Are you okay? Jesus, you were dead." Sam's gaze moves to the blood all over everything. "You died right here."

"No." Dean growls softly.

"No, what?" Sam yells, whipping his head around to look at Dean. Your eyes look from Sam to Dean, you know what Dean's talking about.

"You asked Dean if he was happy that I didn't react to the holy water. He's not." You say softly, you voice sounding far away and dazed. You've been with the boys long enough to know the drill here. You hold out your hand, waiting for Dean to set the silver knife in your palm. 

"Really? After what she just went through?" Sam yells at Dean. 

"Just give it to me." You say quickly.

Dean eyes you curiously as he carefully places the silver knife in your hand. You study the blade, looking at your bloody reflection in the shiny body of the knife, remembering the similar knife from your dreams. You grasp it in your fist, the light from the ceiling glinting off it's sharp edge and press it into the skin of your thigh, dragging it a few inches, watching the trail of blood make it's way to the surface. You don't wince at the pain, you've felt so much worse. Carefully setting the knife down, you stare at the blood soaked sheets.

The wounds covering your body are a shade of angry red, but somehow they've stopped bleeding. You swirl your finger through a puddle of blood, still warm, on the sheet next to you. There's so much blood, deep crimson and carmine against the once white sheets. 

"I was there again," you whisper, not looking up.

"You don't have to...not right now, _________." Sam interjects softly as he sits down next to you. "We should get you cleaned up."

Dean clears his throat, "I'm sure some of those are gonna need to be stitched up first. I'll go get the first aid kit." And he walks out of Sam's bedroom. 

You stare at your hands as they shake in your lap. You know you're not _there_ anymore, but it's like you're not in the bunker either. It's like you're no where, just floating above yourself, not even existing anymore. You can hear Sam's voice talking to you, asking you questions, trying to reassure you that you're safe now, but all you hear is the ringing in your ears, the sound of your heart thump-thumping in your chest. 

 _You died right here,_ Sam's voice echoes in your mind. You remember dying, your heart speeding up and then slowing impossibly slow as you were strapped to the rack, at the mercy of Dean and his blade.  Then there was nothing, until a scream burst it's way through your lips and then there was everything. Sam, Dean, the pain, the blood...  The blood, there's so much of it covering you, covering Sam, covering the bed. Images flash through your mind in rapid succession; Dean's eyes, the restraint buckles on the rack, Dean's laugh, his deep rugged words, the rusty cells in the stone walls and the glittering eyes deep within them.  You tense your whole body to force the images out, your hands flying up to your eyes in a vain attempt to block them from entering your mind.

Sam pulls you into his lap, "Hey, hey, breathe. It's okay. I'm here, you're safe now, but you gotta breathe."

You didn't even realize that you'd stopped breathing.  You're lungs are burning inside your chest, your vision is starting to fade, but you suck in a breath as Sam's soft words register in your mind. You struggle to match your breathing with Sam's as he pets your blood matted hair and looks into your eyes. Finally after a moment, your breath is steady and you curl up on Sam's lap, resting you head on his chest, just waiting for your heart to slow down.

When Dean opens Sam's door and steps inside, your body freezes and stills. Dean notices and walks in slowly, trying to look as non-threatening as possible, but it's not Dean that's throwing you into a panic. Your eyes are locked on his belt buckle, the rack flashes in your mind. The tight leather restraints on your wrists and ankles, the metal buckles digging into your skin, not letting you struggle even just an inch without pain. They held you so tightly as Dean's blade sliced and searched everywhere in your body.

"It's okay," Sam's voice brings your out of your mind and your eyes back to him. "Dean's just gonna patch you up. You're safe, no one's going to hurt you here. It's just me and Dean. Okay?" His voice soothing. You nod your head and look back to Dean, but he's not standing there alone.  Just a step behind the eldest Winchester is Castiel. 

"You called for me?" Cas asks, his face expressionless as he looks at you covered in blood. 

"Took you long enough!" Dean barks.

Cas ignores Dean's yell and walks to the bed, looking down on you and the many, many cuts in your skin. He raises his hand, first and second finger extended and lets them hover next to the side of your face. "May I?"

You nod your head and close your eyes. You know Cas can look inside people's minds and heal their bodies. In just a millisecond, you can feel all your wounds closing up, the sharp sting around your entire body, just gone.  For the briefest of seconds, you can feel Cas inside your mind, looking for the information he needs and then before you know it, your eyes flutter open and the first thing you see are Cas' soft blue eyes.

"We will fix this." He says in a gruff, but reassuring voice and walks out of the room.

"I'm gonna go and see what Cas is up to. _______, you stay with Sammy." Dean turns to follow Cas, but pauses in the doorway, turning back to look at you. "We'll figure this out. I swear it," he adds softly and then leaves. 

Your head is throbbing with pain as it rests on Sam's chest. The smell of blood, your blood, is thick in the air and is making you sick to your stomach. Your olfactory senses bringing you back to your dreams with every breath you take. 

"Sam?" You ask softly. 

"Yeah?" 

You look up at Sam, wishing his eyes brought you comfort the way they have in days past. "Is this real? Am I really here?"

A brief look of pain fills Sam's eyes. He knows what it's like to be unsure about what's real and what's in your mind. He's lived that before. "It's real, you're here. You're not there anymore." He kisses you softly, "Does that feel real?"

You nod your head. The kiss did feel real, but so does the metallic taste of your own blood in your mouth.   

Sam's fingertips are gently rubbing your back, catching in the dried blood soaked into your shirt, "We should get you cleaned up. Might help you feel a little better?"

 _Doubtful_ , you think to yourself. After everything you just went through, somehow being dragged to hell and tortured to death, it's doubtful something as simple as a shower is going to make everything all better. Sam's right though, it would be nice to wash off the blood. 

You nod your head again and Sam scoops you up in his arms and kisses your forehead as he carries you to the bathroom. Once in there, Sam slowly puts your down, your feet touching the cold tiles of the floor. As soon as you look in the mirror, both you and Sam know it was a mistake. You'd seen all the blood on the bed, the blood covering both Sam and Dean. You'd seen the blood on your hands and legs, but seeing it all at once in the mirror, is overwhelming. Your body goes rigid at the sight and a sob breaks free from your lips. Sam quickly spins you around and pulls you protectively into his arms. 

"It's okay." He says as he shushes your sobs. He reaches to shut off the ceiling light, leaving only the small lights above the sink to dimly illuminate the room. "You don't have to look. Here, just look at me. Don't look at anything, but me."

You keep your eyes only on Sam, on the small patch of skin just below his jaw that isn't smeared red with your own blood. 

"I was there again." You whisper in a shaky voice. "Dean, he..." A sob escapes from your throat as you recall what happened. 

"I know. Shhh. Cas said he could fix this. We'll fix this just like he said." He pauses, "Do you want me to help you...get cleaned up? I can stay or I can--"

"NO!" You yell, grabbing on to Sam's blood stained shirt. "No, don't go. Don't want to be alone."

"Okay. I won't go." He reaches into the shower and turns the water on, still holding you close. Then he carefully grabs the hem on your shirt, eyes moving up to yours, silently asking for permission. When you nod you head slightly, he peels the sticky cotton away from your skin and pulls the shirt over your head. You step out of your underwear, trying not to look at the red pile of clothes at your feet.

Sam opens the shower curtain and you step inside. The warm water hits your body, instantly relaxing you and you close your eyes as you tip your head back under the shower head. 

"I'll be right out here, I won't leave, okay?" You nod your head and Sam moves to close the shower curtain, but your eyes briefly flicker down to the bottom of the tub and quickly reach out for him.

The bottom of usually white porcelain tub is covered in red as the water washes your body clean. Sam sees your skin turn pale and your eyes grow wide. He quickly throws his own shirt over his head, pushes down his jeans and is in the shower with you in seconds. He holds you close and softly whispers again, "Its okay. You're safe, I'm here."

He leans your head backwards so your head is under the shower head and rubs your scalp to coax the sticky blood from your hair. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see anymore blood.

Sam's a complete gentleman as uses a soft washcloth and bar of soap to wash away the layer of crimson glued to your body.  When he's done he quickly turns the cloth and soap on himself, washing his hands, face and body.  After the two of your are cleaned, he reaches for two soft towels, wrapping one around his waist and another around you, drying your shoulders and back gently.

"Sam?"

"Hmmm?"

"When I was... _there_ , Dean said that my demon left something inside me. That's how he's doing this. Dean looked everywhere..." Your voice trails off as you touch your naked stomach, remembering each time Dean ripped into your skin. "I died, Sam. I DIED! How is this happening? Dean said that the next time I come back...I'll be his. What does that mean?"

Sam doesn't answer you simply because he doesn't know how. He just kisses your forehead and wipes away your tears. He scoops you up in his arms and carries you down the hall to your bedroom, sitting you down gently on your bed.  "I'm going to go grab some clean clothes, I'll be right back, okay.  Two seconds." You only nod your head in agreement because you have no desire to see Sam's blood soaked bed again. You watch Sam leave your room.

Feeling a little better from the shower, you stand up, still wrapped in a towel and start to dig through your dresser drawers. You're pulling out clothes and underwear when you yelp in pain, feeling a blade slice through your palm. When you pull your hand back to see, your hand is dripping with blood. You gasp in horror and pain as six more gashes appear on your arms right before your eyes. 

Stumbling backwards from your dresser, you look down to see that your fluffy white towel is now soaked with blood, dripping down your legs, onto your feet and the floor below you. Just as you open your mouth to scream, Sam is at your side. 

He sees the pool of blood at your feet, rivers of crimson streaming down your arms and legs. Quickly he lifts you into his arms and runs down the hall to the library where Cas and Dean are sitting. Both of then jump up from their chairs when they see Sam rushing into the room. 

Cas moves first, touching the side of your face and healing all the wounds, this time cleansing you of the blood running down your body.

"But I wasn't asleep!" You screech to Cas, as Sam shrugs off his top layer shirt and helps you into it.

Castiel's eyebrows crease as he looks you over, "He is getting closer." He says cryptically. 

"Who's getting closer!" Sam yells. "Somebody better tell me something!"

"Dean." You and Cas say at the same time. 

"What?" The brothers ask together in curious and angry voices.

"When you apprenticed under Alastair," Cas explains to Dean, "A part of you, even though I saved you from hell, a cleaved portion of you stayed behind in hell. I've seen ______'s dreams, her experiences and when the demon, Lantz, possessed her, he marked ______'s soul for his own. It is very rare, but demon's can lay claim on a soul, to be called to them at anytime. That is what the dreams are, him calling to her, making attempts to steal her soul and now her body for his own."

"What the hell does that have to do with me!" Dean's voice thunders.

"You... _that_ Dean wants me too." You murmur weakly.

Cas nods his head, agreeing with you. "That is what took place before, _that_ Dean was looking for the mark Lantz left behind, to cut it out, to erase it. So he can lay his own claim."

"So what do we do? How to _we_ erase this mark and make this stop?" Sam demands.

Cas breathes out a heavy breath, "I am afraid there is only one way."

"AND?!" Dean yells.

Cas looks down on you with a pained look on his face, "She has to go back."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say a quick thank you to everyone who has been leaving me kudos and AMAZING comments. You guys are so awesome and this fic literally wouldn't have happened with out you.  
> Some of you may remember that this was supposed to be a one shot and like I said, the other chapters have only been added because you all requested them. 
> 
> I have made my first mistake, it's a minor one, but I realized that I left my poor traumatized reader in a bloody towel when Sam brought her out into the library. I added a little sentence in the the previous chapter saying that after Cas healed her wounds, for the second time, Sam takes off his shirt (we all know the man has at least two or three layers at all times) and helps the reader into it.  
> Who said chivalry is dead? Lol
> 
> Also, this chapter contains a naked Winchester. Not nearly as smutty as some other stuff I've written, but a naked Sam Winchester, just the same. I just didn't think hardcore smut was appropriate for everything I've put the reader through in the last seven chapters. I kept it nice and sweet. Sorry if the euphemisms give you a tooth ache. I know some of you have been waiting with bated breath for this and I hope it's enough. 
> 
> IF (and I mean IF) everything turns out fine and dandy for the reader (and I say IF because I'm still debating on how this is going to end) I'll pull out the big guns. (Pun intended)

"NO!" You scream, clinging to Sam tightly. "I can't go back! Cas! You have to do something!"

Cas shakes his head mournfully, "Only you can stop this."

"How?" Sam begs.

"There is a spell," Castiel picks up a large black book from the table, "It will remove Lantz's claim on your soul, but we need his blood. They aren't just dreams, _______. While your body isn't going to hell, a part of you is and you have to find a way to bring a piece of him back."

"And what about _hell-me_?" Dean asks in a pained tone. Even though it's not him doing these things, Dean still feels guilty, like it's somehow his responsibility.

"A demon must possess their host before they can lay claim. A simple anti-possession marking will suffice. Like your tattoos." Castiel replies.

"How? I'm not in control when I'm there. The first two times Lantz was there and then the second time it was Dean... _hell-Dean_." You correct yourself, giving Dean an apologetic look.

"Dream Root!" Sam yells. "We still have some."

"We need the dude's hair or something to make that work." Dean interjects with an exasperated tone.

"Yes and no." Cas says simply. "We can use _______'s hair and one of you can go with her. I can tether the two of you together so you do not get separated. Which ever of you goes with her, will have full control."

"I'm going." Sam barks quickly. 

"No!" Dean yells, "I am."

"I think that is unwise, Dean. Encountering your cleaved-self could be catastrophic for you." Cas states, "It should be Sam."

You carefully consider the careful plan and you just have one question, "How will I wake up?"

"It will be delicate, but once you are asleep, I will closely monitor your thoughts. When I sense you have gotten what you need, I will awaken you."

"And this is my only option?" You ask, hopeful. 

"It is." Cas states plainly. "Dean and I will gather the other ingredients. They are not here. You and Sam will need to set your plan.  It may take some time, but we will be back as soon as possible."

Cas touches Dean's shoulder and they're gone.

You turn around and look at Sam, "You're sure you want to do this?"

"If it'll stop all of this, keep you safe, then I'm sure." 

"God, Sam, I'm so sorry for this...for all of this. If I wouldn't have--"

Sam cuts you off with a kiss, "Not your fault," he murmurs through his kisses. "None of this is your fault."

Sam's fingers wind in your hair, pulling you close to him and you step up on your tiptoes to deepen the kiss. Your fingers run up Sam's back, under his white tee shirt and grip his shoulders desperately. Sam breaks away from the kiss.

"You sure?" He questions softly, his voice breathy, but filled with concern. 

You nod your head, "If you are?"

A smirk spreads across his face as he lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He walks both of you to the table, roughly casting aside the books with one arm, the other holding you tightly. He sets you down on the cool tabletop and kisses your lips once again, softly at first, but then increase with need as the kiss deepens. He reaches behind himself to pull his shirt over his head, breaking the kiss for just a second and then finding your lips again. With deft fingers his jeans are undone and you reach to push them down his thighs and he kicks them away with his feet still bare from the shower before. Your fingertips lightly run up his muscular thighs, hips and abs, moving to run your fingers down the patch of dark hair of his stomach. When your wrap your hand around Sam's hardness, moving your hand up and down his shaft slowly, he moans as he kisses your jaw, nibbling softly down to your neck.

Sam's fingers brush lightly up your thighs, slipping under the cotton fabric of the shirt he clothed you in just moments ago, pushing it up over your body and slipping it over your head. He lies you back on the table, cradling your head as it rests on the shiny wood surface, gently brushing your hair from your face and kissing down your neck to your chest. His tongue laps at the peeks of your nipples, making a soft moan fall from your mouth, as your run your fingers through Sam's soft brown hair. His lips move further down, kissing the places he remembers seeing cuts and gashes more than once today, kissing the non-existent pain away.  It's when his lips gently brush your soft folds that you cry out for the first time in days that hasn't been from excruciating pain.  No, this time when you cry out to Sam it's from bliss, from absolute pleasure as his tongue works against that soft bundle of nerves. His fingers move inside you at a slow pace, gently working your open for him and rubbing against _that spot_ that makes you see stars.

"Sam," you whisper. Calling out his name soft and needy this time, not shrieking it loudly from immense fear or panic. Sam's name comes out in a hushed plea for _more_.

He takes his mouth and fingers away, brushing his lips lightly against the fleshy part of your thigh.  He kisses up your hip bone, over the unmarred skin of your stomach, the soft mounds of your breasts and the delicate skin of your neck, finally finding your lips again. His tongue soft against yours as he swallows your quiet moans into his own mouth. When he pulls away, he touches your face tenderly, whispering softly to you.

"I swear to God, I'll keep you safe. No matter what."

You reach up, pressing your mouth back to his, muttering softly, "I know. I know you will."

He rubs himself against your aching center, easing himself gently inside you. When the two of you finally come together, it's you that kisses Sam's lips as he lets out a deep groan.

His hips move at a slow pace, eliciting hungry sounds from your mouth and he answers with a moan of his own and the quickening of his thrusts. The table creaks under the two of you, tangled together in a tight embrace as hips rock and rise, desperate for that one moment.

Sam reaches down between the two of you, his fingers quickly finding the aching place at your center that's dying to be touched.  Your vision goes white as you cling to Sam, arching your back, pressing yourself impossibly close to him.  In that instant, there's no pain, no fear and no torture, only pure, unadulterated and absolute bliss.  Sam lets his head fall into the soft space between your jaw and your shoulder, letting out a thick and low breath as his hips stutter and then still.

You run your hands through Sam's hair, down his shoulders and through the sweat beads that have formed between his shoulder blades. He returns the gesture with more kisses to your neck, the slight scruff of his chin tickling your sensitive skin.

It's music to Sam's ears when an actual giggle falls from your throat and he rubs his chin gently against your skin more, smiling at the grin on your face and the brightness of your eyes. He moves his face down under your arm to see if he can recreate the giggle, but it's interrupted when you both hear Dean yell out in shock.

"Jesus Christ, Sammy! On the table? I eat there!"

Sam quickly moves his shoulders to the side, to cover you, as both you and Sam whip your heads around to see Castiel looking slightly confused and Dean looking absolutely appalled. Cas tugs on Dean's arm, pulling him out of the room, saying "We'll give you two a minute," in his signature gruff voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to take a minute to point out the irony of Sam promising the reader that he'll keep her safe, no matter what, but then said Winchester goes bareback. I wrote it like that because I just didn't see Sam having a Trojan in his back pocket, or having one stashed in the books in the library. 
> 
> Good sex is safe sex, kids. Always wrap it up. 
> 
> We'll just assume the reader is taking precautions of her own and that they've both been tested in the not too distant past. (Plus, it's fiction, folks.)


	9. Chapter 9

Even if it was just for a little while, the torture, agony and terror were put aside for you and Sam to just have a moment together. You got to feel something other than pain, panic, fear and anxiety. You were able to experience and enjoy, happiness, bliss, _pleasure,_ even the most brief moment of safety (even if it was the _illusion_ of safety), but now it all fades away as Sam buttons his jeans and you slide your arms in his too big shirt.  _  
_

Sam watches you, out of the corner of his eye. He watches you fumble nervously with the buttons, but he knows it's not the typical type of nervousness one may feel after spontaneous sex. He sees it on your face; the light in your eyes going out, your smile from moments before, slowly fading away, it's all being replaced with the harsh reality of what lies ahead. _You have to go back._

Quickly, before Cas and Dean come back, Sam snatches your hand and leads you down the hallway. He stops in front of your bedroom, opens the door, waits for you to walk inside and then follows. Once inside, he closes the door behind the two of you and presses you against it with his body. His lips are more deliberate this time.  He's not taking his time, he's devouring your mouth with his, tending to every cavern inside your mouth. His fingers tangle in your hair as he pulls your face closer to him, pressing his mouth greedily to yours.

When the two of you finally break apart, your eyes are locked as you catch your breath. It's Sam who speaks first, "I just want you to know that if--"

"Don't," you break in, shaking your head, "Not now," You say gently, reaching up to kiss Sam with a smile on your face, "Say it after, okay?"

He silently agrees with a smile and sits down on your bed. You don't sit down next to him, you instead, grab for the pile of clothes on the floor from the last time you were in here. Tossing a bloody pair of socks to the side and carefully reaching in your drawer for another pair. Nothing slices at your palm this time. You retrieve a pair of socks and put them on, along with a pair of jeans a bra and a tee shirt. You hate to take Sam's shirt off, but you do, folding it neatly and setting it on your dresser.

Sam opens his mouth to ask a question, but is interrupted by a soft knock at your door. Knowing it's Dean and Cas, you tell them they can come inside.

Dean walks in your bedroom with his shoulders squared, head high and a frown on his face. Clearly Dean's not pleased with the plan, but (frown aside) he keeps his thoughts to himself. In his hands is a coffee mug, he hands it to Sam. "The Dream Root.  Just needs some hair from _____," and he gives you a pair of scissors. Forcing yourself not to flinch at the sharp object, you take the scissors from Dean. Sam carefully snatches them from your grasp and smooths the back of your hair with his hand.  You hear two snips from the back of your head and Sam shows you what he's cut from your hair; two tiny sections about one quarter inch in length, resting in the palm of his hand. You nod your head, silently thanking him for not cutting more (not that he would) and he drops the hairs into the ceramic mug from Dean.

When this is done, Cas clears his throat. "Once Sam drinks the dream root potion, the two of you will lie down on the bed and I will help you fall asleep. I have added ingredients to the dream root to keep you two together and ensure that you are not separated." His next words are specifically for you, "While you are asleep, I will listen in on your experiences and wake you when you are ready. As for Sam, my alterations to the Dream Root will allow him to wake at anytime during your time there."

Both you and Sam look at each other and nod your heads in agreement. Dean crosses his arms, but keeps quiet of his disapproval. He doesn't know what Cas meant by it being _catastrophic for him to see his 'cleaved self'_ , but he would have chanced it. 

"________, it is of the utmost import that Lantz's blood is retrieved and brought back. How you do it does not matter, but his blood is the mission here."

"Can't they just kill him?" Dean wonders aloud. 

"No." Cas answers simply. "When a demon lays claim on a human soul, the demon and human are joined.  If someone were to kill Lantz before the spell is completed, he would be reborn inside of _______, taking her over completely. Forever."

"After you do this," Dean points to you, "I'm gonna rip his lungs out!"

"What about hell-Dean and Alastair?" You ask.

Cas walks to you, towering over your body with his trench coat covered form. He reaches out with his hand and presses it into the left side of your chest. You hiss in pain as you feel a multitude of needles press into your skin all at once.  When Cas takes his hand back, you look down your shirt and just above your heart, in jet black ink, is the anti-possession tattoo. "That will keep all demons out and none will be able to lay claim on you without possessing you.  Including demon Dean."

"And Alastair?" Sam asks.

Cas shrugs his shoulders, "I can only assume Alastair did the same thing to his host. Sam, you killed him, thus the only way he could come back is through the claimed soul of another." 

Dean, Sam and you nod your heads, taking in all the information and exchanging silent _be careful'_ s. Dean and Sam have a wordless conversation of their own from across the room. If you had to bet, your money would be on Dean telling Sam to watch his back and keep you safe... _bitch_. Sam would simply reply, _jerk_. 

Dean does walk over to you, squatting down on bent knees, so his eyes meet yours, "I'm not saying that anything is gonna go wrong, but if it does, you know Sammy and I will go down there and tear it apart to get you back, right?"

You nod your head and pull Dean into a hug, forcing yourself not to think about how your body will stay behind. That, lost in hell forever, would be your mind and soul. But Dean's right, you do know they would tear apart Heaven and Earth (and Hell) and make every attempt to get you back. You whisper in his ear, "I know you like to take the blame for things, but this one's not on you. You are what you are, _here,_ and that's what matters. That's not you down there, this is not your fault. Okay?" _  
_

Of course, Dean doesn't say anything. He just smiles a forced half smile, finishes the hug and walks back to Cas.

Sam shoots back the contents of the ceramic mug, wincing slightly at the hairy sourness of Cas' concoction. He sets down the mug and lies on your bed pulling you with him. You bury your face in his chest, using his upper arm as a pillow, as Sam hugs you tightly.  

His lips press against your forehead. "It's gonna be okay," he whispers. You nod your head and nestle into Sam, breathing in his scent and feeling the warmth of his body pressed against yours.

Before Cas places his hands on both your forehead and Sam's, you blurt out, "And you're SURE you'll be able to wake me up?"

Just as Cas gently touches your forehead, you see a small smile spread across his face and he whispers, "I am sure."  You feel Cas' cool fingertips lightly touch your face and everything goes dark.

Dean walks up to Cas, pulling a chair from the corner of your room and sitting down next to bed. "You're not one hundred percent sure you can wake her up, are you? Since when can you lie?" He growls. 

Cas doesn't take his eyes off you and Sam.  He states very clearly, "Since her life depends on it."

 


	10. Chapter 10

Just like the times before, your eyes pop open into pitch blackness. The sporadic lightning above you, your only light source, as it flickers against the nothingness around you. Instantly, you're filled with fear; adrenaline coursing through your veins, your heartbeat pounding in your chest as your breath goes wildly out of control. The howls of torment and pain, once again filling your ears with their deafening sounds. The is air thick with sulfur, blood and anguish.

Instinct to flee kicks in when someone grabs your hand, but it's abated slightly when a bolt of lightening illuminates Sam's face. A small sigh of relief almost passes through your lips, but stops when you hear a familiar voice behind you. 

"Shoulda known you weren't gonna make this easy for me," Dean purrs evilly in the darkness. "That's okay though, I like 'em _feisty_. Don't I, Sammy?"

Sam can't help but gawk at the demon version of his brother for a moment, staring at his black eyes and the malicious grin smeared across his face. In spite of his immediate shock, Sam quickly moves between this other version of his brother and you, using his only weapon to shield you from danger, himself. 

"C'mon, Sammy, don't be like that." Dean coos with mock disapproval. "What I need to do to precious _______'ll only hurt for a minute. I just have to find that little something Lantz left behind. I was gentle the first time, wasn't I, sweetheart?"

Before Sam can interject, another familiar voice pierces through the blackness behind you, "But she's not yours to claim, is she, Dean?"

Lantz roughly pulls you backwards into his arms, pressing his face into your hair. "This little girl is mine!" he snarls to Dean. "MINE for the taking, MINE to do with whatever my little heart desires." He moans dangerously. "Just found this little lamb, helpless amongst the wolves, and I just knew she was perfect, _made_ for me. I had to keep her all to myself and I have. Staked my claim on her, nestled my mark so deep inside her, it can never come out."

With a snap of his fingers and a twisted grin, suddenly you're wrapped in Dean's arms, his warm breath hot on your neck. "Never say never." Dean smirks at Lantz. "You may have been locked down here a few more millennia than I have, but I'm much stronger than you'll ever be, Lantz. And Dean Winchester always gets the girl, _always_."

In an instant, you're back in Dean's secluded cavern, away from the screams of torture and torment. 

"Now that we're finally alone, little one, we can get back to business." Dean whispers in your ear, his sulfuric scent wafting up to your nose. His black eyes study you for a second and then flicker off into the distance.

"How the hell are you here?" He roars to Sam, pushing you to the side and stalking off toward his brother. You stumble painfully to the jagged rocky floor, the delicate skin of your palms torn open, as you break your fall.

Dean stands before his brother, taking in the sight of Sam, a sight he's not laid eyes on in many, many years. But hell has worked it's twisted magic on Dean, making him devoid of all sentiment toward the man he once sacrificed his life for.

"Bet this is a real eye opener for you, baby brother. Seeing your Dean in all his glory. I've worked my way up on the chain of things down here, got rid of that pesky humanity and now I'm able to enjoy the finer things in life." Dean briefly rips his black eyes away from Sam, to toss a wink over his shoulder at you. 

"You can't have her, Dean. Not now." Sam growls at his brother, fists balled at his sides. 

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I can have whatever I want." Dean counters back with a sly grin. "One little joy ride inside _________ and she's mine."

Sam's mouth contorts into a sneer, at the mention of Dean taking you. 

"Did I hit a nerve, Sammy?" Dean cackles, "You got a soft spot for this one? What am I thinking, of course you do. Always gotta save the girl. Flash her those dimples, that Winchester smile, show her the puppy dog eyes and you think she's yours?  Wrong, Sammy. _Wrong._ Is she a demon, a werewolf, a _monster_? That's your type isn't it? Except for poor little Jess, she was as innocent as they come, wasn't she? Well, too bad for her, isn't it. We all know what happened to Jess."

"You son of a bitch!" Sam screams. "You're not gonna lay one finger on her, you hear me! Not one finger!" He lunges at Dean, getting just one swing in before he's roughly cast aside. 

Dean roars with laughter, "Whatchya gonna do? Beat me up? Kick my ass? I don't think so! You're not gonna do anything, there's no demon blood running through your veins anymore. Well, not the kind that'll do you any good, anyway."

Sam looks up at Dean in shock, eyes briefly flicking to your wide eyes. You're unable to believe the revelation Dean just let loose. 

"What?" Dean questions with fake innocence. "________ doesn't know all about your little trysts with your demon bitch? You didn't think I knew?" His head falls backward with evil laughter. "Of course I know all about it. Word travels fast, Sammy, but apparently our little girl was left out of that loop." Dean shakes his head as he walks away from Sam and makes his way back to you. He painfully snatches your bloody hand, pulling you up from the floor. "I bet you thought you were safe with Sammy." Dean chuckles to you. "Thought he was good and pure, thought nothing bad would happen when he was around? Little did you know, there's a little bit of this place deep inside him. Try as he might to ignore it, it's still there.  Has been for a long time."

"I don't care!" You shriek, wrenching your hand from Dean's grip. You know you only pulled it free because Dean let you. "I don't care." You breathlessly say again, directing your words to Sam. "It doesn't matter, not to me." You take advantage of being free from Dean's grip for the moment and run to Sam.  He instantly grabs your hand and runs, dragging you with him out of the cavern into a torch lit hallway.

"You can run, but you can't hide!" Dean warns from some place behind you and Sam. "There's no place safe, not down here!"

Both of you continue running through the seemingly endless twists and turns of the catacombs of Hell. You're running blindly into the dark, the torches on the walls offering little to no light to help you on your way. Your lungs burn in your chest and your calf muscles ache, as Sam pulls your further and further into the deep darkness. When suddenly the grip on your throbbing hand is gone. Sam's gone. 

"SAM!" You scream into the darkness, but he doesn't call back. "SAM, WHERE ARE YOU!"

"He's right here," Lantz's voice calls to you in the darkness. You spin around toward his voice and you're briefly blinded by a blazing light. When your eyes finally adjust to the immense change in light, you see Sam strapped naked, to the same rack Dean was strapped to the first time you visited this room. Sam's arms are stretched impossibly wide, a wide leather restraint wrapped around his groin, his legs bound to the wooden beams below him, the thick strap stretched tightly over his jaw and mouth. You know exactly where you are, right where it all began.

"NO!" You wail, rushing to Sam, but you're stopped short when Lantz pulls you tightly into his arms.

"Now," Lantz starts, "We're going to do this, but since I love you so much, since you're so important to me, I'm going to give you a choice. You surrender yourself to me, forever, no take backs and I'll let your precious Sam go.  If not, Alastair will show you Sam's insides, up close and personal, until you agree to be with me.  Either way, you're mine, but it's your choice as to what happens to your boy, here."

Before your eyes, Alastair stands next to Sam, his fingers running gently over his shiny tray of sharp implements. Dean appears next to Alastair and he opens his mouth to say something, but Alastair cuts him off. "As much as I enjoy a good friendly competition, rules are rules. Lantz has claimed this beautiful little thing for his own, he's done the leg work, set the stage. She's his."

"We'll see about that." Dean mutters under his breath.

Your mouth gapes as look between Lantz, Dean, Alastair and finally Sam. Tears stream down your face as you look over Sam, realizing what you have to do.  There's only one thing left to do, then all of this will be over, forever. You force your legs to move, to make you walk toward Sam. You stand before him and wipe the tears from his face. "It's okay." You whisper as you start to unbuckle the strap over his mouth.

"Uh, uh, uh," Lantz purrs in a sing song voice, pulling your hand away from Sam. "Say it first and then he's free."

You shake your head, "I'll say yes AFTER he's gone. Only after."

"Or you could be mine," Dean interjects with a sadistic smile on his face, but Alastair pulls rank as Dean's superior and snaps his fingers. Dean is gone.

Lantz steps to your side, possessively running his fingers down your cheek, jaw, neck and shoulder, trailing off at your hip. "Remember, a promise is a promise," he whispers in your ear, kissing your cheek. You close your eyes and nod your head. You finish working open the buckle over Sam's mouth, moving on to the ones on his arms, middle and legs.  When he's free, he pulls you into his arms. 

"It's okay, Sam." You whisper tearfully with a shaky breath, pulling yourself out of his arms. "Go." 

"No, I'm not leaving you!" Sam tries to grab you, but you push him away, lunging quickly at Alastair's try of razors and blades. When you have one in your hand, you blindly start to hack and slash at Lantz. "GO!" You yell again, and Sam's gone.

*************************

Sam bolts up on the bed, sitting ramrod straight, gasping for breath. When he looks down on you, you're still fast asleep.

"WAKE HER UP!" Sam screams to Cas.

"She does not have Lantz's blood yet." Cas shakes his head.

"WE'LL FIGURE SOMETHING ELSE OUT!  WAKE HER UP!" He yells again, but Cas just shakes his head, not taking his eyes off your still body. Sam and Dean share a panicked look as the seconds tick by. It feels like an eternity to Sam when Cas finally lays his hand on your head.

"It is time." A soft glow appears below Cas' hand as he wakes you up. His eyes are closed tightly, eye brows knitted together in concentration. He stumbles backwards when you finally sit up on the bed. Alastair's blade is clenched tightly in your bloody hand, but the blade is shiny and clean. There's no blood.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so hard for me to write. I had to think of the most horrible things Dean's ever said to Sam, the most heinous things Dean ever *could* say to Sam and the most horrific things that've ever happened to Sam and put them all down in one place. It was pretty difficult.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang on to your feels, kids. I think you're in for a bumpy ride.

You stare down at the pristine blade, blinking your eyes repeatedly just waiting for the time that you open them and there's blood coating the knife, but it doesn't happen. Your mouth is hanging open at the sight and dread fills your entire body. 

You helped Sam down from the rack. You told him to go before it was too late. No one knew what you were going to do. Not Alastair or Lantz, not even Sam, but Alastair's tray of razor sharp blades glinted off the light of the cavern and it happened. You grabbed the first blade you could get your hands on, the one you're holding in your hand and hacked and slashed against the soft flesh of Lantz.  You were sure you broke skin, you were sure you drew blood, you felt the warm liquid pour down your hand and just as you opened your mouth to scream to Cas, you were awake, but the sharp instrument in your hand remains clean and free of blood. 

"But I..." Your voice cracks in fear, "I cut him, I felt it! Cas! Why did you take me back if I didn't have his blood?"

"I saw what you saw, _______. I do not know." Cas answers in a defeated voice as he pushes himself up weakly from the floor.

"There's gotta be something else we can do.  Something we missed!" Sam yells, panicked. "We can't just let her..." His voice trails off as he pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you protectively.

"I have to go back. Don't I, Cas? I can try again!" 

Cas shakes his head, "Lantz knows what you are planning. If you go to him again, he will not let you go, not this time."

"Then I'm going!" Dean yells. 

"If you go, Dean" Cas starts, "You will not be able to come back. If your cleaved-self so much as touches you, even once, the two halves will become whole." The three of you watch Dean's face pale just a little bit.

"Then what do I do?" You scream. "I can't...He'll take me!"

The angel purses his lips and looks away. "There is one other way, but it will be excruciating." He finally answers.

"More excruciating than what I've already been through?" You've been through an emotionally excruciating event, seeing Dean in his most vulnerable state is something you fear you'll never forget as long as you live. You've felt more fear in the last couple days than most people feel their whole lives and you were tortured past the brink of death. You've felt pain and as far as you're concerned, that pain felt pretty excruciating.

Letting out a deep sigh, Cas painfully says, "Yes."

You and the Winchesters silently implore Cas to continue.

"I can cleanse your soul, wipe it clean and erase the mark, but---"

"Then do it!" Dean roars, interrupting Cas as he speaks.

"But it is a delicate procedure." Cas begins again. "The consequences are severe. It will be quite painful, I will have to remove your soul."

"NO!" Sam yells, "Absolutely not!" He's all too familiar with that particular scenario. You don't know everything about the boys' past. You'd read in a journal of Bobby's about Dean's trip downstairs and why he made the deal, but you don't know everything, all the painful events they've been through. The Dean in hell let loose a secret that was so difficult to believe, it seems like such an unlikely thing for Sam to do, but it was his eyes when Dean spoke, Sam's eyes told the truth. Not that it matters to you. You were raised to believe that past is past, it's what you do with your future that counts.

You gently place your hand on Sam's chest in an effort to calm him and to calm yourself. The steady thump thump of Sam's heartbeat gives you the tiniest speck of comfort. "Forever?" You whisper, not even really knowing the consequences of what you're asking.

"No, I will remove it just long enough to cleanse it, to wipe the mark away, but that is not all. Cleansing a human's soul can be catastrophic. Wiping away the claim Lantz laid on you will also wipe other things away.  Things that make you who you are, experiences, thoughts, memories, emotions... Some will be wiped away, possibly forever."

Tears fall down your cheeks, you think of all the memories you hold dear in your heart; special times with your family, your first kiss, getting your driver's license, graduating high school. There's so many and they'll all be gone, but there's no other way. This is your last option. "Will I still be me? Will I change?"

"Yes," Cas says somberly. "All memories since Lantz laid claim on your soul will be erased."

The words sink into your mind and you're momentarily thankful that only a month's memories will be gone. Next to you, Sam lets out a ragged breath, almost a sob and it hits you. _All memories of Sam and Dean will be gone._ You look up at Sam, his hazel eyes returning your gaze, filled with pain and you can't imagine not knowing him, not seeing him everday. You can't picture yourself outside this new life the brothers brought you into, the life you assumed you'd always have. 

"How much time do I have?" You ask weakly, silently praying for more time than you guess you'll have. 

"Not long. I will make it so you are unconscious while your soul is outside your body. It will only take a moment for me to wipe it clean, but being without a soul is something no human should experience." Cas answers softly, his eyes briefly landing on Sam and then back to you. "I will give you a moment to say good-bye." He walks out of your bedroom and after a shared look of sadness between Dean and Sam, Dean follows Cas. 

As soon as the door softly closes behind Dean, you break down and sob against Sam's chest. Sam pulls you tight to him, petting your hair and kissing away your tears. His lips press against yours, kissing what he knows will be one of the last kisses you and him share. 

"Shhh, it's okay. You'll be safe." Sam murmurs against your lips. "That's all that matters, you'll be safe."

"But I won't..." you swallow a sob, "I won't remember you. I just...we just...and now... It's not fair! You lose everything, Sam. Everything always gets taken away from you. It's not fair!"

"Hey, hey." He whispers with a forced smile, "Don't worry about me. You can go back to school, finish college, it'll be like you just took some time off, you'll live a _normal_ life. You won't remember the demons or  the monsters. They'll just be the things your stuffy professors drone on and on about in the lecture halls. You won't remember any of this."

You look deep into Sam's eyes, tucking his hair behind his ears and gently touching his face, ignoring the tears that drip off your chin and nose, "But you will."

And you know it's true.  You don't have to know every detail in Sam's past (or Dean's, for that matter) to know that they know loss like no one else. You'll be just another name to add to that long list of people who have come and gone in their life. Sam's right, you won't remember any of this. You won't feel the nag in your heart as a memories rises to the surface unexpectedly, they will. You won't feel the loss, they will and it's not fair because they seem to lose everything.

Sam pulls you back to him, holding you tight, wishing like hell he could have done something, anything to keep you safe. But there's nothing left for him to do, except hold you, breathe in the smell of your hair and tuck away as many memories of you as he can in the tiny window of time the two of you have left. It seems like just seconds later when Cas knocks on your door, Dean just steps behind him. Both have sorrowful looks on their faces. 

"It is time." Cas says softly. 

You nod your head slowly and stand up from Sam's lap. You walk over to Dean and pull him into a tight hug. "I meant what I said, Dean. You're a good man. I wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for you. I know you think your past defines who you are, but it doesn't. What you do _now_ , is what matters. You save people, you give people their lives back, that's what matters." Dean kisses your forehead and when you look up at him, you see a single tear falling from one of his eyes. You wipe it away and rest your hand on his face. "Thank you for everything."

With his hand on the small of your back, Dean walks you back to your bed, back to Sam. You look down on Sam and smile, wishing you had more time to say everything you want to say to him, to tell him everything you're feeling. He stands and wraps his arms around you. Breathing in his scent you remember the comfort Sam's arms have brought you, they are the one place you feel safe and you'll never be here again. 

Cas clears his throat, "Lie down, ______. It is time."

Sam wipes away your tears as you lie down on your bed, you remember the first time Sam and Dean brought you to this room, telling you it was yours for as long as you needed it. You never imagined it would be yours for such a short time. Memories flash in your mind from when Dean taught you how to make the best cheeseburger ever, showed you how to strip and re-assessable a gun, and how he passionately set the record straight on reapers, claiming your "elbow patch wearing professors didn't know jack." You remember Sam teaching you the organizational system in the library for the Letter's books and files, how he taught you to pick locks and comb the web for reliable lore, he taught you how to shoot a gun even though Dean would never allow you anywhere near an actual case, but most importantly Sam made you feel safe, he made you feel needed, wanted, _special_.  Now Sam smooths the hair away from your face, his eyes saying more than a million words as he looks down on you and softly kisses you one last time before taking a step back to make room for Cas. 

You look up at Cas with tear filled eyes, "It's going to hurt, isn't it?" You ask in a shaky voice, as you recall Cas' words from before. _It will be excruciating_.

Cas looks down on you with soft blue eyes and smiles, "No."

His hand moves above your middle, hovering just long enough for you to look at Sam one last time. You silently swear to yourself that no matter what you won't forget, regardless of what will be done to your soul in just seconds, you swear you're going to remember, but the wordless vows to yourself are cut short. A scream of agony rips itself from your lips just as Cas pushes his hand inside you.

Sam and Dean both wince as your wail makes it's way to their ears, but it doesn't take long until you fall silent and they have to squint their eyes against the brilliant brightness of your soul.  Cas holds your soul, your spiritual life essence, gingerly in his hands while you remain unconscious on the bed, looking like you're fast asleep, dreaming what normal people dream of. The angel carefully moves your soul between his two hands, muttering Enochian, the language of the Heaven Host, as he washes away the mark so viciously left behind. And then just as quickly as it started, Cas places the soul back inside you, tucking away carefully just as it was before Lantz staked his claim.

"It is done." Cas announces in his deep voice, resting a hand on your shoulder, "I will bring her home." Before Sam and Dean can even move a muscle, before they can even think of moving a muscle, both you and Cas are gone.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song lyrics in italics: White Rabbit by Jefferson Airplane.

_And if you go chasing rabbits and you know you're going to fall. Tell 'em a hookah-smoking caterpillar has given you the call..._

You slap the snooze button on your alarm clock and roll over, smashing your face into the pillow. _Just ten more minutes_ , you think to yourself and drift off back to sleep. _  
_

_When logic and proportion have fallen sloppy dead and the White Knight is talking backwards and the Red Queen's off with her head. Remember what the dormouse said, feed your head, feed your head._

You hit the alarm clock again, this time knocking it to the floor with a cracking sound, making Grace Slick's voice falls silent, which was your intention, so it's fine. You whack your pillow once with a tired fist and go back to sleep.  Just as you doze off, your phone rings. With a slight growl, you grab your phone and see the caller ID blinking the name, Hannah, your best friend and stereotypical Psych major.

"Hmmmm?" You ask sleepily.

"________, are you still asleep? Did you forget we had plans this morning? Breakfast? So we can catch up a little bit?" Hannah asks in a jokingly scolding tone.

"I'm up, I'm up." You groan, sitting up on the bed. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"I'm already on my way to your room, be there in a half hour. You'd think after a seven month vacation, you'd be well rested." Hannah laughs and the line goes dead.

When you end the call, your phone emits a little beep as you hold it in your hands. Not expecting the noise, you jump slightly and then scoff, "Jumpy, much?" You whisper to yourself as you punch in your passcode.

The voice mail is from an elderly woman, "This is Marjorie from the dean's office, confirming your eight AM appointment tomorrow.  Please bring all the forms from your re-admission packet. Thank you."

The voicemail ends and the operator's voice kicks in, asking what you'd like to do with the message. You end the call and stare at your phone blankly, feeling déjà vu.  You know who the dean is, you've met with him dozens of times over your college career, but there's something you can't quite put your finger on.  It's right there, on the tip of your tongue, but you just can't reach it.  After a moment of wracking your brain for the lost memory, you stand up from your bed, Hannah's going to be at your dorm in less than thirty minutes.

***

After a quick shower and three cups of coffee, you and Hannah are sitting in a local college diner, eating breakfast. 

"So," Hannah starts, "Tell me all about it!"

"All about what?" You ask, pouring yourself another cup of coffee.

"Rome, silly! I want to hear all about it! The wine, the sights, the _men_." She waggles her eyebrows suggestively.

"I studied." You answer plainly. "Father Novak showed me around the Vatican and I studied. There's not much to tell." You say robotically.  You're surprised at your blasé tone.

"Really?" She asks dryly. "You studied? That's it? No juicy details for me?" She rolls her eyes, "You're such a nerd."

You shrug your shoulders and take a bite of eggs. It does seem a bit nerdy, even for you, but you're being honest. That's all you did. 

"It's all kind of a blur, which is weird." You add. 

"A blur? You were gone for seven months?" Hannah questions. 

"Yeah. I mean I remember being there, but it's like...I can't remember. Never mind. Jet lag, I suppose."

"Psychologically speaking---"

"It's to early for psychology, Han. Don't shrink my head." You roll your eyes. "What did you do while I was gone?"

"Well, I met this guy..." Hannah starts, but your mind wanders off.

What does the dean have to do with any thing? Or maybe it's the name, "Dean"? Not exactly a common male name anymore and you don't know anyone named "Dean". And why is your recollection of your time in Rome so vague? You remember being there, studying with Father Novak, reading ancient Latin texts, but nothing else. No experiences, no emotions, no drinking wine, no eating the local cuisine or seeing the sights, just the vague memory of being there and even that seems like someone else's memory. 

Hannah keeps talking about the guy she met, his car, his crazy friends and she picks up her fork and knife to cut into her breakfast. The fluorescent overhead lighting of the diner glints off the serrated blade and reflects in your eye.  You gasp audibly and bolt up from your seat. The second you do it, you're filled with fear, shaking, sweating and on the verge of tears, but you have no idea why.  Why would a simple steak knife frighten you? A memory flashes in your mind, so quickly that you can't even see it and when you try to recall it.

Hannah speaks up. "________, uh, you okay? You're shaking and white as a sheet."

"Yeah, I'm fine. I've gotta go." You toss a twenty dollar bill on the table and quickly make your way to the door. Hannah tries to get you to ride with her, but you insist on walking the twelve blocks back to your room, claiming you just need some air. 

"Okay, well, call me later. Get some sleep, you look like hell."

Walking back to your dorm, your arms are crossed against your chest in a vain effort to shield yourself from the chilly morning. A truck drives past you, clearly in need of a repaired muffler, blaring Led Zeppelin's Kashmir. Not your typical type of music, you roll your eyes at the blonde haired man behind the steering wheel and the déjà vu floods you again. Which is amplified to alarming heights when you find yourself standing in front of a Sammy's Pizza place.

You stare at the neon green sign, with the bright yellow lettering, trying to grasp at the fleeting memory, but it's like trying to catch smoke with your hands. The more you reach for it, the further it slips away.

"Sammy," you whisper and then shake your head. You've never once in your life known someone named "Sammy" and as far as you can remember, there were no Sammy's Pizzas in Rome. When you repeat the name silently in your head, it's not your voice, it's a deep rugged voice, one you don't recognize.

"Sam," you try again, using a variation of the name. All at once you're filled with an overwhelming feeling, but you can't place it. The feeling knocks the wind out of you, but the name still means nothing to you. And the thought of it meaning nothing to you for some reason is painful, leaving an empty place deep inside you. You shake your head, silently admonishing yourself for allowing yourself to entertain such nonsense and finish your walk home.

Evening comes and you've gotten your backpack ready for your first day back in class, you have your clothes laid out for your early morning. Usually class doesn't start until nine AM, which is your Theology class, but you have to be on campus early to go to the meeting. Nestling in your bed, you drift off to sleep with strange names running though your head and anxiety about meeting with the dean.

_You're in a room, filled with books, a large wooden table and leather chairs. You smell the aroma of coffee and pizza. There are a multitude of books laid out before you, some in Latin and Greek, two languages you're fluent in, but some are written in languages you're not familiar with._

_There are two men sitting at the table with you, but their faces are blurred, you can only tell they're men from their broad shoulders and their deep voices. They're asking you questions in rushed voices, begging you for answers you don't have. You continue to sift through the wealth of knowledge in front of you, but it means nothing. It's just squiggles and marks that don't resemble any language you're familiar with._

_Frustrated with the men's constant and insistent questions, you push yourself up from the table and walk away. When you look down at your feet, you see you're standing in a pool of blood. You look at your arms and body, only see to cuts appear before your eyes, ripping and slashing at painful angles and impossibly deep.  Suddenly your hands are gripped on a bar, the pool of blood at your feet, now a deep hole and if you let go of the bar, you'll fall into the abyss below. Your fingers slip, bloody and sticky, coated with your blood, but you hang on tight. You don't want to fall, you don't want to leave the room with the books and the large wooden table. You cry out to the men and they rush to your side, trying to stop the bleeding with their bare hands, but it's impossible. The blood just keeps gushing from your wounds, covering the men.  
_

_One man whispers, "It's too late, Sammy."_

_Your fingers slip and you fall. A huge bird, with jet black feathers flies along side you as you fall, making an awful screeching noise at you, almost like it's laughing, mocking you and your desperation. Just before you wake, you a hear a second man's voice, "They're just dreams, they're not real."_

 


	13. Chapter 13

Your first meeting with the Dean of Students went over well. When he asked you why you took the break from school, you instinctively answered that you needed a break, just needed time to clear your head. He commended you on recognizing your need for a break, taking the appropriate actions to get your head clear and for being motivated enough to get back on track and finish your degree.  He shook your hand and wished you luck. Even though you knew in your mind that you took the seven month break for the stated reasons, you didn't remember making the decision to leave college. It just _was_. Again, everything was like someone else's memories.

You tried not to dwell on the past, being a firm believer in only the future mattering. You threw yourself into classes, taking extra to make up for what you missed so you could graduate at the end of the year like you were supposed to and it worked well. For exactly one month. 

It all started in a lecture hall when a particularly graphic image of Hell appeared on the smart board.  _Les Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry: Hell_ , flashed in front of your eyes and an inexplicable feeling of sheer terror filled your entire body, accompanied by equally brutal images flickering in your mind. A primal need to get away took over inside you, causing you to jump up from your chair and bolt from the lecture hall. When you were finally in the safety of the hall entrance, your world spun before you and you passed out, collapsing on the marble floor. Students and faculty rushed to your side to revive you, insisting you should be taken to the hospital, but you declined. You made a compelling argument that you'd not been sleeping well and hadn't eaten breakfast, claiming that it was just a blood sugar issue. You called in to all your other professors, leaving messages letting them know that you weren't feeling well, but that you'd return to class the following day. You didn't.

The dreams started up again that night and every night there after. Horrific images of Hell, demons with razor sharp blades carving at your skin and endless visions of blood plagued your dreams, causing you to wake up screaming, covered in sweat and exhausted. After missing two consecutive weeks of class, sleeping for only moments at a time, you were a wreck. You refused to leave your dorm, panic attacks ensuing at the slightest shadow, or light glinting off metal, glass or any reflective surface and loud noises. Dreams of the two men happened sporadically, never able to see their faces completely, but it was always the same idea.  Either you were hanging from a bar over a deep crevice in the earth, your fingers never quite getting a strong grip, or you were falling through the sky, off cliffs, down stairs, or from tall buildings. The giant dark bird was always there, screeching it's ear splitting call as you fell and the same man standing above you, calmly reassuring you that they were just dreams. 

You'd met with the resident psychiatrist a few times. Telling her of your dreams, your lost and foggy memories, the panic attacks, the terrifying visions and the insomnia. She scribbled everything down furiously on her yellow legal pad. After the third time, when you'd let slip your dreams were about hell, demons and torture, and that you randomly saw items or places and heard names that reminded you of something you couldn't remember, all feeling ominous to you, the psychiatrist wrote you a handful of prescriptions and gave you a referral to another shrink. After that final meeting, you threw the referral away and never went back.

Now, three weeks later, you're back in the dean's office; a frayed bundle of nerves, jumping every time his phone rings and is sent to voice mail, every time your chair squeaks when you shift nervously and anytime a bird flies past the office's large picture window. As the dean speaks to you, you can't help but stare at his name plaque, sitting on the top of his shiny wooden desk. _Dean of Students: Dr. Baldwin Lebowitz III_ , the word _Dean_ still bringing on deja vu for no apparent reason.  As the stuffy elbow patch wearing man speaks to you about things you can't possibly comprehend in your frazzled state, you stare at the shiny surface of his desk, silently swearing to yourself that it has some sort of meaning to you. You know you've seen such a surface before.  You can almost feel the cold and smooth finish, even when you're not touching it.

"Miss __________, because of high amounts of unexplained absences and dozens of incomplete assignments, papers and missed tests, I'm afraid you've earned yourself an incomplete for this term. Furthermore, because of your time off earlier in the year, in addition to all those things, I'm afraid that you've been placed on Academic Dismissal. I've compiled a list of trusted colleagues in the psych field that would be happy to work with you on the troubles you've recently encountered.  If you spend the next year working with them to improve your state, I would be more than willing to discuss you coming back at that time, but for now, I think it's best that you take some time to reevaluate and get some help, away from this campus." Dean Lebowitz has a sympathetic but firm look on his face as he hands you a piece of paper filled with names of doctors and addresses of Psychiatric hospitals.

You tear your eyes from the shiny surface of his desk and briefly meet his eyes, forcing yourself not flinch as the glow from the lamp on his desk reflects off his golden rimmed glasses. "Thank you," you answer softly as you take the paper.

"Please take the weekend to collect your things from your dorm.  If you need help packing and moving, your Resident Advisor can help you with that."  Dean Lebowitz shakes your hand and gently says, "Good luck to you."

In a daze you leave the campus building and somehow stumble your way to your car. Just before you open your door and climb inside, you crumple the thick off white paper and toss it to the ground.  You drive past the college dorms and out on to the highway, not stopping until it's dark.

*//*

Sam was quiet after Cas took you away.  Dean tried to bring your name up just one time and it earned him a bitch face like no other. Sam's fists clenched atop the shiny surface of the library table and his whole body went rigid. He growled, "I don't wanna talk about it.  She's safe, that's all that matters."

Dean raised his hands in a submissive move, signifying that he'd take the conversation no further, after all he'd been _there_ and he sure as hell didn't want to talk about his similar experience either. However, Dean being who he is, regardless of the multitude of cases falling into their laps, the asshole angels doing their asshole-y things, Dean kept tabs on you. He assumed Sam did to, but they never talked about it, they never talked about you.

About two months later, Dean is doing his usual search on you, running your name through random data bases when something jumps out at him. He looks up from the laptop, seeing that Sam was on the other side of the room, putting away books, far away from him.  He clears his throat, "Uh, Sammy?"

"What?" Sam snaps.

"Have you been keeping tabs on ________?" Dean asks reluctantly, seeing his brother clench his jaw and let out a deep sigh, but not answering. "I'm gonna take that as a yes."

"What's your point?" Sam barked, shooting daggers from across the room. 

"She's not in school anymore." 

"So? People transfer, they pick different colleges. What's the big deal?"

"When they have just months left? Now I'm no college boy, Sammy, you know that, but that seems just a bit odd to me."

Sam rolls his eyes, "Does it say why she left or where she went?"

"Nope, but I bet you can use that gigantor head of yours and hack into her records."

Letting out a huff, Sam puts down his arm full of books and stomps his way to the laptop, pushing Dean aside in his rolling chair. His fingertips type loudly against the black keyboard and then he studies the screen, reading your personal file in it's entirety. After he finishes the lengthy read Sam quickly jumps up from the chair and sprints down the hallway. Confused, Dean moves the laptop in front of him and skims over what Sam just read. The words _mentally unstable_ , _possible paranoid personality disorder_ read on the screen and instantly he knows why Sam moved the way he did. Skimming further along in your file, Dean reads that you left your dorm after your academic dismissal and hadn't returned any of the college's follow-up phone calls.

With just a few key strokes, Dean pulls up your bank account and finds that you're checked into a motel, just a few states away. Moments later, the bunker is in the rear view mirror of the shiny black Impala and they're on their way to find you.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Les Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry: Hell is at http://www.christusrex.org/www2/berry/f108r.html
> 
> Also, I have very minimal experience with trauma, amnesia/angels wiping souls and memory loss or any actual psychological disorders. I'm sure my research was crude at best, as were my findings. If this offends you in anyway, I do apologize. I honestly mean no harm or disrespect.


	14. Chapter 14

The bar you're sitting in isn't like the bars you typically go to. There's no frat guys playing fooseball or air hockey. There's no girls in skimpy outfits, dancing to Beyonce on the dance floor, nor is there an assortment of fruity or candy flavored alcohol lining the shelves behind the bartender. There's the standard Jim, Jack and Jose with a few other no-name brands of booze, a jukebox playing various forms of rock music and a TV bolted to the wall, showing a muted game of football.  Most of the patrons are men, all mid-thirties or older with just a few women who look to be in about the same age bracket.

You're swirling your second double shot of whiskey, staring at the worn wooden surface of the bar, tracing your fingers absent-mindedly over the nicks and dents in its once smooth surface. The alcohol that warms your belly and face, also dulls the feeling of impending doom that seems to have taken up permanent residence inside you. The last few days have been difficult. All spent in solitude with the exception of the gas station attendant at the corner Gas 'N Sip where you get your coffee and the bartender of the fine establishment you're currently spending your time in right now. Snapping your out of your daze, a man sits next to you.

As you take another sip of your whiskey he asks, "Rough day at the office?" You don't recognize him, but it's Dean.

You smirk for the first time in days, "You have no idea," and shoot the remaining contents of your glass. 

He signals the bartender to pour you another and to give him one of the same. "You saving this spot for someone?" The dark blond haired man with green eyes asks, "I can move down if you are?"

"Nope, it's all you." You answer, sipping lightly from your newly refilled glass. 

"You from around here?" He asks after a significant length of silence. 

You shake your head no, and he continues. "Me either. My brother and I," he motions to a tall man with brown hair standing at the jukebox, "We're just passing through."

"Me too. Though I have no idea where I'm headed. Just need to get away. Away from school, away from..." You sigh, "Never mind, just babbling."

"S'okay." He says with a smile, "Lay it on me. That's what bars are for. Drowning your sorrows in a glass and rambling on and on to the poor sap next to you, who's probably going through the same shit as you are. I'm John, by the way. John Bonham." He lies, using one of his favorite aliases.

"_______," you reply, not giving your last name because who the hell does that when you meet a stranger in a bar? 

"So ya left school," he questions in an attempt to keep the conversation moving along. "Any particular reason why? Other than the obvious, I mean," he jokes.

Under normal circumstances, you'd be more tight lipped, but the whiskey has started to wash any hesitancy away. Plus, you've been so lonely over the last few days, it's nice to have someone to talk to.

"Got kicked out," you sigh. "Apparently being crazy is frowned upon by the tweed suits, elbow patches and bow ties.  So if you're looking for a hook-up, run away. I'm one of the crazy ones."

Dean laughs, "Not looking for a hook-up. Not in this place." He tips his glass, gesturing to the bar stools filled only with men. "No offense," he adds quickly.

"None taken." You swallow the rest of your whiskey and reach for your purse. "I should be going anyhow, this isn't really my scene. It was nice to meet you."

"No, hey, stay. Here comes my brother. Keep him company while I play some pool? This isn't really his scene either."

You open your mouth to politely refuse, but it's the smile on his face that instantly changes your mind and you nod your head.

"Good. _________, this is my brother Jim." Dean's subtle reference to Jimmy Page goes unnoticed to you. "You kids have fun." He smirks and walks toward the set of pool tables.  As Sam sits down next to you, a new song starts to play on the jukebox.

**_I seem to recognize your face. Haunting, familiar yet, I can't seem to place it. Cannot find the candle of thought to light your name..._ **

The bartender starts to pour you another glass of whiskey, but you stop him. "Just a Coke this time."

"Me too," The man you now know as Jim, tells the bartender with a smile. "So did my brother talk your ear off?"

"Nah, actually it was the opposite." You answer, looking at the man next to you and a flicker of an image flashes in your head, but it's gone before you can catch it. Only a feeling of déjà vu is left behind again, a feeling that you're becoming far too familiar with.

"Have we met before? You look...it's just..." your voice trails off. "God, I swear that wasn't a line." You roll your eyes and shake your head.

He laughs, "No, I get it. You see a face and you feel like you remember something. It happens."

"It does! Thank you! God, people think I'm crazy. I'm not! I swear I'm not, it's just like I can't remember. Like it's right there, but I can't..." You sigh. "There I go again. Don't mind me."

**_Hearts and thoughts they fade, fade away. Hearts and thoughts they fade, fade away._ **

"Hey, it's fine by me. Sometimes it's better to talk to someone you don't know."

Nodding your head, you briefly consider the option and decide that talking to this man, someone you think you'll never see again, might be a good thing. It would be nice to get some of these things off your chest, maybe get an impartial perspective on your crazy. "Do you ever feel déjà vu? Like you see something or someone and it makes you feel like you've seen it before, or been there before, or knew someone by a name?"

"Yeah, every once in awhile. Usually they're weird things when it happens to me." Sam says.

**_I swear, I recognize your breath. Memories like fingerprints are slowly raising. Me, you wouldn't recognize for I'm not my former. It's hard when you're stuck upon the shelf..._ **

"Yes! Totally weird stuff. One time I was in front of this pizza place and I swear I'd been there before, but of course I had. It's like eight blocks from my old dorm room, but the name of the place, it was like I knew I should recognize the name, like it was something important...  It's so weird."

"What was the name of the pizza place?"

"Sammy's? I don't even know---"

Sam interrupts you by sputtering in his Coke.

**_I just want to scream hello!  Well, my God it's been so long, never dreamed you'd return. But now here you are and here I am._ **

"Oh my God! Jim, hey, are you alright?" You hand him a napkin.

He wipes his mouth and chin with the thin white napkin, cheeks blushing just a little bit, "Yeah," he laughs lightly, "I'm fine, sorry. Go on."

"You don't have to sit here and listen to me. Go play pool with your brother, it's fine."

"Really it's alright. It's nice to have someone to talk to."

"Okay..." you question.

"So, déjà vu from a pizza place. That's interesting."

"Yeah. If by interesting, you mean weird, but the other one is even more weird. It was a plaque on a desk... Dean of Students: Dr Baldwin Lebowitz III."

"Really?" Sam raises his eyebrows, eyes darting over to his brother, who is sinking in a striped ball into the corner pocket. "Did I hear you tell John that you're in school?"

**_Hearts and thoughts they fade, fade away. Hearts and thoughts they fade, fade away._ **

"Was. Took a break, went back, got kicked out." You shrug your shoulders.

"Took a break? How come?"

"That's another thing. I don't remember deciding to take a break. I just went to Rome and studied at the Vatican.  It's my memories...I remember doing things, but they're not how I would remember things. Like I remember seeing the Sistine Chapel, but I don't remember which part was my favorite and I don't remember how it made me feel. People get overwhelmed when they see the Sistine Chapel and I don't remember anything! Who does that! Who goes to Rome and doesn't see the sights, doesn't drink the wine, eat the food?" Sam doesn't answer, he just patiently listens to you. "And then there's the dreams. God, if I could sleep maybe I wouldn't be so crazy!"

"Dreams?"

Before you can answer, Dean walks up with a fist full of cash that he waves in his brother's face. "Who wants to go get a burger? I'm buying."

Sam shrugs his shoulders, trying to seem nonchalant and hide his eagerness. "You want to come with us?"

When you see the man's brown hair fall around his face, you stifle the urge to reach up and tuck the fallen lock behind his ear.

"No, I really should be going. Besides, who in their right mind leaves a bar with two men she just met a half an hour ago?" You say with your eyebrows raised.

With a smirk on his face and his green eyes twinkling, Dean pulls a badge out of his pocket and shows it to you, "Federal Marshal. I'm safe."

Hands on your hips, you roll your eyes, "Right. Like I'm supposed to believe a Federal Marshal who is _just passing through_ , hangs out in dive bars and hustles pool? No thanks, pal."

You walk away quickly, exiting the the bar's heavy wooden door out into the cool night air. The two brother's jog side by side to catch up to you, their shoes making crunching noises as their feet fall heavily on the gravel parking lot. Sam catches up with you first.

"__________, wait!"

"I might be crazy, but you're insane if you think I'm going anywhere with you."

From the corner of your eye you see Dean, still thinking his name is John, leaning up against a shiny black classic car, the neon lights from the bar glinting off the chrome and a memory flashes in your mind's eye.

You're tied to a chair, two men barking questions at you, making slices into your skin when you refuse to answer. The next thing you remember is hearing a vaguely familiar voice recite Latin and you recognize the words _satanic power, demon_ and _Perdition_ and then you're in the backseat of a shiny black car staring at the back of two heads; one with short dark blonde hair and one with shaggy brown hair.

Leaving you terrified and shaken, the memory fades and you stare at Sam, "Is that your car?"

"It's my brother's. ___________, what did you see?"

You back away from the stranger you know as Jim, when his brother starts to walk up to you.

"What did I see?" You yell at the man who you now think is crazier than you are. "Stay away from me." You whisper in a shaky voice, getting in your car and driving away, tires squealing on the blacktop as you pull out on the highway and speed back to your motel room.

*//*

"Well, that went over well." Sam groans, running his hand through his hair as he watches your car race down the highway. "She said she's having dreams again. You don't think..."

"No," Dean answers quickly. "Cas said he got rid of the mark on her soul. Lantz can't get her anymore, Sammy."

"She remembers us, Dean. Well, not _us_ , us, but she said something about déjà vu when she saw our names."

"Cas said that the soulenoscopy would wipe her memories forever. There's no way."

"No," Sam answers softly. "He said _possibly_  forever."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song lyrics from Pearl Jam's Elderly Woman Behind The Counter In A Small Town. I think it fits perfectly. I can totally picture myself sitting at a bar, the air thick with smoke and this song playing in the background. The lyrics are amazing.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YF-5vW4GbsQ


	15. Chapter 15

Shortly after you leave the bar parking lot, Dean drives the Impala down the same stretch of highway as you. Both he and Sam know exactly where you're headed and plan on following you to make sure you're safe.

Barely an hour ago, you, under the impression you were talking with a complete stranger, had mentioned to Sam that you were having dreams. Dean interrupted before Sam could press the issues further, but just by the horrified look on your face, Sam knew you had some sort of flashback when you saw the Impala. You were starting to remember.

Now they're checked into the same motel as you. They paid the greasy motel clerk triple the room charge to have the guest in the room next to you relocated to different room, so they could have it. They wanted to be close to you with out you knowing it and without them seeming creepy. But to be honest, the creepy factor didn't matter much to them. The only thing that mattered to them was you.

The boys don't have to keep the TV volume down to be able to hear what you're doing in the room next to them, but they do just to be sure. The walls are paper thin, unfortunate for a _specific type_ of clientele that frequents motels such as this, but definitely a plus when one is trying to maintain a low profile and keep tabs on an unsuspecting woman. Again with the creepy factor...  

They hear you on the phone, ordering food from the twenty-four hour Chinese place Dean noticed on their way into town. They hear random noises; you pacing around your room, opening and closing the particle board dresser dresser drawers, and flicking through the channels of the TV so quickly that there's no way you're actually seeing what's on the screen.  To Sam and Dean's trained ears, these are all noises of someone who's nervous, someone who's on edge.  Someone who's scared.  And just when they think you've gone to sleep, they hear chair legs drag across the tacky linoleum of the motel's cheap kitchenette or they hear the shower turn on; the older than dirt pipes clanging and rattling and the too small hot water heater whirring and humming in every effort to provide enough hot water for just one little shower, let alone for all twelve rooms of the motel.

After your shower, you're combing your hair, staring at your reflection in the dingy mirror behind the bathroom sink, completely oblivious to the men behind the wall, straining their hears to hear your every movement. Your eyes look so tired, lined with red with black shadows below them. Your glance travels down to the tattoo seemingly strategically placed directly over your heart. Over the last couple months you've been struggling to remember why and when you got the tattoo, but recently let the thought drop. There were so many unexplainable things going on right now and a two inch tattoo, that was easy to cover if necessary, was the least of your worries. Putting your comb back into your travel bag on the counter, your fingers brush against a large blue and white bottle, your sleeping pills.

The nightmares...God, the damn nightmares.  You haven't slept for more than two hours at a time in weeks and would give anything for a good solid four hours. Taking three of the white pills out of the bottle, you roll them in your hand, making a decision. Three pills would guarantee that you'd get some shut eye, that much is for sure, but you found it was more difficult to wake up from the dreams. Thinking better of your overly ambitious self-medication plan, you tuck two of the white pills back into their bottle and dry swallow just a single pill.

As you lie down on your motel pillow that's more lumps than actual comfort, you silently wish there was a pill that could just stop you from dreaming. If you could stop dreaming, you could sleep.  If you could sleep, maybe you could think clearly. If you could think clearly, you're positive you could figure out what's happening. The moment you finally slip into unconsciousness, a single word flashes in your mind. At first you see the pizza place, the brick building with the Italian flag on their sign, but then a face comes into view; kind eyes that are a kaleidoscope of browns, greens, blues and yellows, soft brown hair and a caring smile appear in your mind's eye, but before you can get a good grasp on the image, you're asleep.

 _"I see you." A voice announces in an eerie sing song whisper from behind you._ _"I can see you, but I can't touch you. Not the way I want to. Not yet."_

_"Who's there?"  You choke out, feeling around the dark space, looking for something solid to grasp onto with your hands, you have no idea where you are._

_"Don't be like that," The voice moans darkly. "I know it's been awhile since you've seen this handsome mug of mine, but there's no way you could ever forget about me."_

_"I don't...I'm not...I don't know where I am!" You cry, "It's so dark." You hear fingers snap and the room you're in is filled with light.  As your eyes take a moment to adjust themselves from the pitch black to the bright light, you hear the voice again._

_"Just you this time? Where's your body guard?" The voice comes from the shadows and your momentarily light blinded eyes can just barely make out his form.  
_

_"Body guard?" You question, honestly having no idea what the voice is talking about. "Please, can you help me? I think...I think I'm lost." Your eyes finally acclimate to the lighting change and you see a man in front of you; gray v-neck tee shirt and blue jeans, short dark blonde spiky hair, but you can't tell the color of his eyes, he's still in the shadows and they just look black.  
_

_"We've already gone over this, sweetheart. I can---" He purrs, but you interrupt him, taking a step closer._

_"Do I know you? You look familiar..." And he does. There's something about his voice and the way he stands, if only you could just see more of his face..._

_"Oh, you're all sorts of confused, aren't you?" He takes a step toward you, out of the shadows and you're finally able to look on his face. "Soon." He whispers, pulling you close to him. Something sparkles in the light next to your face, but you can't stop staring into the moss green eyes in front of you. "I'll be there as soon as I can and everything will be clear again. I promise."  His fingers trail softly over your cheek, caressing your jaw and neck, but the soft touches change into sharp pain, as the mysterious glitter is brought to light. You scream as the tiny blade slowly slices it's way from your collar bone, though your tattoo to your chest.  "I'll be there just as soon as I can."_

Sam is just dozing off when your scream makes it's way through the impossibly thin motel room walls. Both he and Dean fly up from their respective chairs and are at your doorway in seconds. Not taking the time to knock, not even taking the time to break out the lock pick, Sam kicks in the door with one quick movement and the brothers see you tossing and turning, tangled in the off white motel sheets. Your shrieks have turned into helpless whimpers, but the stain of red on your pale tank top is loudly calling for attention. Wasting no time and not caring that you think he's Creepy McCreeperson, brother of Federal Marshal, Shady Von Shaderstein from the bar, Sam gathers you up in the sheets and sits you up right.

"_______! Hey, wake up. It's okay, shhhh, wake up." Sam softly encourages you from your sleeping state, petting your hair softly. Your eyes flicker open, your body sweating and shaking in fear and relief, that you're not _there_ again, but as soon as you see who's sitting next to you, your momentary feeling of relief changes right back to fear.

"It's you," you breathe, looking up at Sam. Your eyes filled with confusion as you recognize his face.

 A smile starts to spread itself on Sam's face and his eyes start to water just a little bit, "Yeah, _________, it's me. It's Sa--"

"Jim." You cut him off, not seeing the flicker of sadness on Sam's face. "Yeah, I remember the stalker brothers from the bar!" You push yourself up from the bed and walk away. "What the hell are you doing in here?" You reach down to grab a sweatshirt off the floor, but your separated skin on your neck and chest tugs at the movement and you grimace, touching the steady stream of blood dripping down your shirt. "What it the hell?" You yell at the man in front of you, the sight of blood triggering something inside of you that releases terror amongst the fear and anxiety you're already feeling.

Sam sees your face pale and he reaches out for you. "It's okay. We heard you screaming from our room, we just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Wanted to make sure some weirdos from the bar didn't follow me back to my motel and rent the room next to me? That's mighty kind of you." You bark accusingly, shrugging the sweatshirt painfully over your shoulders and zipping it up a little bit.

At some point Dean, or John Bonham as you know him, slipped past you and Sam and retrieved a couple thread bare towels from the bathroom and hands them to Sam. "I know it's weird, but we're just trying to help." Sam gently presses the towel into your chest, his eyes flickering nervously Dean's when he sees the anti-possession tattoo is ruined.

Meeting his eyes again inexplicably calms your anxiety just a little bit, bringing it down to a level somewhere close to _I'm-scared-to-death-but-I-know-I'm-safe._   Looking at him brings on the feeling of déjà vu, like you should know him and it's his eyes.  It's like his eyes are willing you to remember something that you didn't even know you'd forgotten until you saw him and now it feels like you've forgotten the most important thing in the world, but you just can't remember it. The sudden breath-taking realization makes you uncomfortable and your eyes flicker away from the soft hazel ones and to the other man, John, leaning up against the wall, keeping silent.

As soon as you look at him, your dream comes flooding back. Images play in your mind in rapid succession; the dark, the man with the knife, his voice, his eyes, the blood. _"I'll be there just as soon as I can."_

"He's coming!" You yell, your eyes flicking back to Sam. "He said he's coming.  He said can see me, but he can't touch me, not the way he wants to, not yet."

"Who's coming?" the boys demand simultaneously.

Before you can answer that you don't know, that you don't even know if what you're saying is true, that it just happened in your dream, your hotel room door is kicked open for the second time today.

"Me." The man who has been frequenting your dreams, specifically your last one, growls while looking right at you possessively.

Remembering what Cas told Dean, _If your cleaved-self so much as touches you, even once, the two halves will become whole_ , Sam grabs his brother by the collar of his navy blue cargo jacket and pushes him to the back of the room near the bathroom. In spite of his relocation, Dean's eyes land on the Hell version of himself. For just a second, Dean goes back to his time spent in The Basement and fear grabs at him, but in a quick hurry he reminds himself that he's friggen Dean Winchester and Dean Winchester _doesn't_ wuss out. He squares his shoulders and sets his jaw while looking the near mirror image of himself up and down. Dean smirks as he reaches those jet black eyes.

"Well, aren't you a handsome son of a bitch!' Dean growls sarcastically with a half smirk spread across his face.

"Right back at ya!" Hell Dean spits back with a wink.  He cocks his head and with a wave of his hand he sends both Sam and Dean to the nearest wall, unable to move, unable to squirm, as they rise up the wall slowly and then stop, three feet from the floor. Quickly his ebony eyes dart back to you. "I told you I'd be here for you. Just took me awhile, haven't been topside for quite sometime." His eyes look over Dean's struggling form, pressed tightly to the wall.

You follow this man's gaze and gasp when you realize they're the same man. "Who are you people?" You scream.

"You really don't know who I am?" Demon Dean questions, taking a step to close the gap between the two of you. You shake your head no. "What did you do to her?" He roars at the brothers still struggling in their hold.  "Got a case of the soap opera amnesia, do you, sweetheart?" He whispers darkly in your ear, his lips grazing your neck. "Well, I guess it's a good thing I've got the magic pill for that." He purrs just before his lips press roughly against yours and your eyes close.

Every forgotten memory, every painfully traumatic experience and every fake memory planted in your mind is proven false all at once. When your eyes pop back open you're looking into soft green eyes and you remember. "Dean? What the hell? What happened?" 

The Dean before you touches your face softy, pulling you to him and whispers as his eyes flick black again, "There's my girl."

"NO!" You scream, fighting to get away. Your sharp elbows connect with Demon Dean's ribs, as you twist away from him, kicking and punching, doing everything you can to get away, but he's strong and holds you in place, your back to his front. In your struggle your eyes dart around the room, finally landing on _your_ Sam and Dean, pinned helplessly to the wall.  "SAM!" You scream again. 

"Let her go!" Sam roars, veins protruding from his neck and he struggles with everything he has against his invisible bonds.

"Ya know, I don't think I will. I've had my eye on this pretty little thing since I saw her downstairs and finally," His fingers trace over the open wound of your anti-possession tattoo, "She's mine." Demon Dean darkly informs the brothers. 

"Oh, but she's not!" A voice thunders from the other side of the room and you don't have to be able to see the face to know exactly who it is. Lantz.

The black eyed version of Dean throws you to the floor and charges Lantz, pushing him against the motel wall. "You couldn't seal the deal, my friend. Had her all dressed up with no place to go. You had your chance and blew it like the pathetic piece of shit you are! She's mine." He growls in Lantz's face. " _Mine_."

Lantz bucks Dean off him and punches are thrown. For just a second you take your eyes off the fighting demons and look back at Sam and Dean. Dean's eyes catch yours before you can look at Sam and his eyes gesture down to the waistband of his jeans. In his struggle against his cleaved-self's unseen hold, his shirt had bunched up at little bit and you see it, the carved wooden handle of Ruby's knife. Your eyes quickly move back up to Dean's and you nod your head, understanding his silent plan.

Looking back over at the two demons still wrestling for dominance, you quickly move to Dean and pull the knife out of his pants and grip it tightly in your fist.  Your slight movement caught the attention of Lantz and he loses concentration as he looks up at you.  Dean takes advantage of the distraction and wraps his hands around Lantz's neck, with a low growl, pressing his fingers tightly against his throat.  Lantz struggles at the grip, hands flailing and finally finding purchase on Dean's, trying to pry them off. But Demon Dean was right, he did move up a few rungs on the ladder in the pit, learned some new tricks of the trade, and with just another squeeze of his hands, everyone watches as black smoke hurls itself out of Lantz's body and rushes out of the open door.

With a heavy sigh of appreciation, Demon Dean stands up from his victim, having won the fight and brushes the wrinkles from his jeans, straightens his tee shirt and you quickly move your hands behind your back.

He turns around, his eyes immediately locating you in the same place he threw you to the floor and a evil grin turns itself on his face.

"Now where were we?" He stalks over to you, his eyes looking at Sam and Dean still held tightly to the wall and then back to you.

"Well, that's settled. Lantz won't be able to come back up here for a long while AND he won't be hassling you anymore, little girl. Not once I officially make you mine." His voice low and gravelly as he looks over your body seductively. "I just gotta hop right inside this precious little body of yours, now that it's not closed for business," He eyes the painfully separated skin of your tattoo, "and leave a little something behind, just a tiny little mark and it's all over, baby. But you're familiar with that, aren't you."

Eyes shiny black as they trail up and down your figure and you shiver, "Don't you worry, little girl, I'll make it good. I'll make it real good for you. Unlike Lantz, I can actually get the job done. Unlike Lantz," Dean pauses dramatically, "I can actually get it up." 

He moves closer to you, just a step away and you return his ever present smirk with one of your own.  Dean takes notice of your change in attitude, "That's more like it, baby. I knew you'd warm up to me eventu---".

You interrupt him by using every ounce of strength in your sleep deprived and exhausted body, shoving the curved, serrated-edged blade of Ruby's knife into the soft muscle just under his slightly scruffy chin, causing Dean's face to register shock and then finally defeat. When the wound flickers like lightening, you stumble backwards until you hit the wall. Dean's eyes flick green just as the light fades away and he falls heavily to the carpeted floor of your motel room, dead.

Lost in your shock, lost in the realization that it's finally over, you too fall to the floor, your legs giving out and you don't hear Sam and Dean hit the floor behind you. They scramble to your side and Sam pulls you into his lap. You don't hear Sam as he calls your name over and over again, trying to get your attention off the two lifeless bodies in front of you. When Sam's voice finally permeates your dazed state, you look up at him and for the first time in months really see him and you remember everything, every single detail. 

Stealing your eyes away from Sam, Dean ruffles your hair slightly and smiles down on you. "You did good, kid. You did real good," he praises in his rough voice. Both you and Sam watch as Dean yanks Ruby's knife out of the man who looks so much like himself. Dean looks back at you and then to Sam, nodding his head and smirking just before he walks out the door, leaving you and Sam alone.

With soft and gentle hands, Sam moves your face back to his. His eyes look over your face, taking in every detail; the soft skin of your cheeks, the brightness of your eyes, the pink of your lips and your smile.

"You okay?" He asks, pressing his lips softly to yours.

You don't open your mouth to answer, you open your mouth to Sam's kisses, just nodding your head and letting out a little moan against Sam's increasingly hungry lips. 

For the first time in along time, with memories both real and fake, you really are okay.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be one more chapter after this one. At first I thought this chapter was going to be the end, but the ending I'm going for, still needs a little set up and finalization.  
> And as promised, the last chapter will make this fic live up to it's Explict rating. :)


	16. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, kids.
> 
> But before you, my loyal reader, go on to read the conclusion of this little story, I just want to say thank you. This literally wouldn't have happened with you and your comments, your encouraging words, your suggestions and your insatiable, constant need for more. :) I've never done something like this before, never written much more than a thank you card or a grocery list since high school or college and I have to say, I'm pretty proud of myself. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the final chapter of They're Just Dreams and all the other chapters before it. I know I've enjoyed writing them.
> 
> Ps. Glen Lantz is Johnny Depp's character from A Nightmare on Elm Street, but I pictured him in my head looking like Johnny Depp from Secret Window.

Once back at the bunker, Dean watches with a grin as Sam picks you up and carries you down to his room. Goofy smiles and hushed laughter are music to Dean's ears.

You think it's over, Lantz sent back to hell and Demon Dean dead, his body burnt to ash, as the three of you stood around watching the orange, red and yellow flames devour and kiss at the skin of Dean's cleaved self. But this Dean, he's a man of his word, and he's got more work to do. 

Digging through thick leather volumes, Dean finally finds what he's looking for; a half page description of the demon, Lantz and a summoning spell. 

"Yahtzee!" Dean whispers smugly to himself as he drains his third beer. 

He gathers the necessary ingredients listed on the pitifully short list, along with a tiny piece of chalk and makes his way toward the dungeon, Ruby's knife gripped tightly in his hand. 

Setting the herb filled bowl in the middle of the Devil's Trap carved into the cement floor of the Letter's dungeon, Dean recites the short Latin incantation and smirks wickedly when a familiar demon appears. 

Chained to his chair with the spellwork engraved manacles, Lantz's desperate pleas for mercy, his howls of pain, anguish and torture don't make their way down the hallway to your and Sam's ears. They're only audible to Dean and with a dark promise, Dean whispers, making his first cut, "Oh, I'm gonna make this last."

*//*

Sam places you down on his bed, white sheets below you, they're no longer covered in your blood like the last time you were in this room. Slowly he unzips your sweat shirt and peels your dried blood stained tank top off your body. His fingers gently running over the tape securing the gauze over the last wound he swears you'll ever have. With soft lips, he kisses each new and naked patch of skin and your hands reach up to wind in his brown locks.

With lips still grazing your soft skin, Sam pulls down your cotton pants, taking your underwear with them and he tosses them to the floor. Not bothering with the buttons of his signature plaid shirt, he pulls it over his head, the second layer of clothing coming off next and you look up at him with awe. How could you possibly forget this man? This man that did everything he could to keep you safe, wiped away your tears, washed away your blood and held you while you sobbed in fear. But none of that matters now, not anymore, because you're back, the real you and you know that Sam isn't letting you go again.

In just seconds, but with unbelievably graceful movements, Sam's dark blue jeans and boxers are cast aside and he kneels naked before you, as you lie back on his pillows. He moves back down to you, alternating between kisses and gentle nibbles on your jaw and neck, his hands running up and down the side of your body, making their way to your soft breasts. His mouth follows his hands, his wet tongue flicking at your pert nipples and teeth raking over them soft and first and then with much more pressure.

"Sam!" You cry out in desperation, wanting more, _so much more_. His only answer is with his mouth, sucking and biting at your sensitive nipples, making your hips rock up against his. With a groan he takes his mouth off of you and pulls you up to him, on his lap, his throbbing cock brushing against the inside of your thigh. His lips greedily find yours, dragging your bottom lip through his teeth and sucking your tongue into his mouth, teasing it with his own and then soothing every inch of your mouth.

Breathlessly you pull your mouth away, moving backward on his lap slightly and begin to plant gentle kisses on his neck, letting them slowly grow more intense as you suck and nip at his slightly scruffy skin. Your kisses travel down his pecs, whirling your tongue around a brown nipple and down the dark haired trail of his stomach. Already knowing your intention, Sam lies back with his head at the foot of the bed, closing his eyes and you kneel between his legs, peppering little kisses along the sculpted V of his hips. Seeing a trail of pre-come, beading it's way down Sam's shaft, you move your mouth over and lick it away, pausing to swirl your wet tongue around the swollen dark pink head. With a low groan, Sam's hips involuntarily move up at the contact, pushing himself further into your mouth slightly. With that, you suck down as many inches as you can, slowly moving your head up and down, your hand pumping the remaining inches with your fist. One of Sam's hands comes up from the sheets below you and combs through your hair, gently making a fist and pulling just slightly. Your mouth still working wetly over his length, picking up speed with each bob of your head, you moan at the small tug of your hair and the gasp slightly as he pulls your face off of him. 

"Can't." He whispers in a rough voice, sitting up on the bed. "Gonna come, it's been too long since... God," He groans, "C'mere." He pulls you back into his lap, your legs kneeling around his thighs and he roughly kisses you, pressing you tightly to him. 

His fingers move down between your kneeling legs, and slip into your wet slit, quickly finding the aching bundle of nerves and teasing it. His tongue roams over yours, mirroring the same movements inside your mouth. With your arms wrapped around his neck, you're kissing his lips and moaning into his mouth, as his fingers dance over your opening and then finally one and then two push inside. That was all you needed and you arch your back into his chest, crying out his name as your orgasm rips through you. With quick hands, Sam's already positioned you over him, his cock pressing into your dripping folds. His hands still on your hips he presses you down over him, you bite off a sob as he slides completely inside of you.

A heavy sigh falls from his lips as he feels your velvety opening stretch around him, "God, I missed you. Was so worried," he moves your hips over him, thrusting himself up, "Thought I'd never see you again."

"Me too, Sam. OH!" You move your hips over him, feeling him brush against your g-spot, "Missed you too." And you did, even though you didn't know it was him you were missing, you were aware that something very important was lacking. It just took you time to figure it out. None of that matters anymore though.

"And then when I saw you," he mumbles as his lips suckle on your neck and hands pull your hips down over him repeatedly, "And you didn't know who I-I was, I almost..." His voice breaks off as he lifts you off of him and tosses you back on the pillows. In just a second he's on his knees and thrusting back inside you, "But you're here now and I. Swear. To. GOD!" His thrusts matching his pointed words, "You're not leaving again," he growls possessively.

"Never," you moan.

"They can't have you, not now. You're _mine_." He moves one of your legs up over his shoulder, pounding into you at a new angle, hitting that sensitive spot inside you perfectly. "Mine." He whispers again.

"Yours!" You cry out, "Sam! I'm gonna-pleaseSamplease!"

"That's it," he groans hitting your g-spot over and over again, watching you writhe against his bed, your fingers grabbing tightly onto his biceps as you come for the second time. Feeling your warm wet opening flutter around his aching cock, he too, comes with a deep moan. His head falling forward onto your chest, hips still moving slowly against you as he rides out both your orgasms.

After a moment, when you've both caught your breath, Sam pulls his softening length out of you and collapses onto the sheets by your side. He pulls you to him, wrapping his strong arms around you and holding you tightly. "Don't ever leave me again, __________." He murmurs in a gentle tone, against the sex mussed hair at the top of your head.

You look up at him and kiss him softly, shaking your head, "Never," you breathe through your kisses. "Never again."

*//*

Exhausted from the stressful weeks before, from the last encounter with the two demons, hell bent on making you their own, finally feeling that safe feeling again, you fall asleep in Sam's arms. With your head resting on Sam's chest, he looks down on you and runs his fingers through your hair as you breathe softly, humming little sighs of contentment against his naked skin. You'd think Sam would be exhausted too, he's not gone through the same hell as yourself, but one all his own; grieving the loss of you, thinking he was never going to see you again and then being overcome with fear after he found out you were in trouble, but he's not tired, not in the slightest. He cards his fingers through your hair and runs his fingers softly up and down your bare shoulders and back, just watching you sleep.

After a little while, your eyebrows furrow and your muscles twitch, signifying to Sam that you're deep in sleep and having a dream, but he doesn't panic, nor does he wake you. He just kisses your forehead and whispers, "They're not real, they're just dreams."


End file.
